


Dark Crown

by Violetwilson



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fainting, Nausea, No Pregnancy, Oral Sex, Sith but make it fashion, Slow Burn, Snark, The backstory it would have taken to get me to care about the Palpatine thing, angerey, freaky deaky bond stuff, gentle oral though nothing rough on either side they are soft when they are not doing murder, good (?) boy kylo ren, sith princess rey, taking a lot of liberties with lore, wait i accidentally wrote a reylo Tangled AU, what do you have - A KNIFE
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-03
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:22:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 18
Words: 78,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005418
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Violetwilson/pseuds/Violetwilson
Summary: Nobody said the Emperor had a Princess. Nobody said she was beautiful. And they definitely never said she would try to stab him with his own knife.But then, she was never the kind of story a Jedi could have told him.A Sith Princess AU
Relationships: Kylo Ren/Rey, Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 1656
Kudos: 2693





	1. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look. I didn't like TRoS, okay?
> 
> Mind the tags.

* * *

**PROLOGUE**

* * *

In a dark training room buried under the surface of Exegol, the heir to the Emperor sits in deep meditation. 

Sitting like this, she could easily be mistaken for any other devotee of the cult of the Sith. Simple training garb, hair pulled back into a tight bun, an expression that stops just shy of downright hostility.

But in front of her, placed carefully on a piece of smooth black stone, rests a hammered crown gleaming dully in the light of a single lantern. 

Her sight is trained on something far away, and she studies it with an inner, more sensitive organ than anything in her physical body. In her mind’s eye, she focuses on the Force, nearly trembling with the energy it takes her to locate the source of the strange disturbance she has sensed. 

Something, somewhere, has just died. Something powerful. Something angry. 

But just beyond that, there is something else. 

Someone else. 

Using every ounce of internal focus she has, Rey stretches herself in the direction of that presence, hungering for knowledge of it as if for food after months of famine. 

The person - the man- 

He’s like her. 

She can sense it. It fills her with fear. 

_There should never be two of them._

In that dark room, the Princess begins to tremble. 

There has always been darkness. There always will be. But now? 

Now there is the darkness and _him_. 

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

* * *

Two days later, Rey has a headache that would make a Rancor weep. 

Her head throbs, her sight swims in front of her, and she feels a little like she’s been struck in the head. It shouldn’t still feel like this; it’s been almost ten days since her grandfather last trained her, and usually the nausea and headaches pass after a few days. But this one, like the uneasy mood she’s in, won’t let go of her. 

She can’t stop thinking about that presence she sensed. In the years she’s been conscious of the living Force, nothing has ever felt quite like it. Like looking out into a world of complete blackness and suddenly finding that someone has turned on a light a few star systems away. 

Somehow, knowing that there’s someone else like her out there in the galaxy only makes her feel lonelier.

Physically, however, she is surrounded by people. 

The Receiving Hall is designed to intimidate anyone brave enough to approach the War Room and the High Council. The ceiling is so tall and shadowy that she can’t even see the ceiling, and the glossy black stone underfoot echoes every footstep of the courtiers, lords, and acolytes of the Cult of the Sith that linger here. 

At least they know to get out of her way when she walks by. Even the acolytes seem to understand that now is _not_ the time to try and brush their creepy sallow fingers on the metal of her crown. 

It’s a Sith artifact, sure, but it’s also sitting in her _hair._

Her cloak is a simple thing made of thick, blunt material that trails behind her, her simplest and most comfortable garment appropriate to be worn into the War Room. At her throat, the dull metal brooch given to her on her 16th name day by Moff Vellian proudly bears the symbol of House Palpatine. An odd gift, she’d thought, given the Sith require total detachment from human connection.

But then, if the Emperor had ever intended on keeping that vow, he wouldn’t have tracked her down in the first place. 

A voice at her elbow startles her out of her thoughts. 

“You’re not going in _there_ , are you?” 

Severn, a tall, lithe Dathomirian with tattoos in the shape of a rising sun just above her sculpted temple, gives Rey a skeptical look. Severn’s grandmother had been a member of the treasonous Shadow Collective, who had, in their own time, challenged the power of the Sith Order. Rey heard a rumor that Severn was only at the Palace as a punishment to her family for their disobedience two generations ago. 

Whatever the reason, Severn herself seems to carry that same spirit of rebellion around with her, never missing an opportunity to cut Rey down to size and jockey for the Emperor’s favor. If Rey had a choice, she would cheerfully hand Severn the position she so obviously craves. Let her experience just what it means to be favored by the Lord of the Sith. 

Rey levels Severn with a baleful, wordless glance. 

Severn adjusts the sleeve of her gossamer court gown, which is trimmed with black stitches that creep up the hem, as if the gown is being steeped in a creeping darkness. 

Her voice is equally dark. “How brave. After that nasty incident with the Sith Inquisitor, I would think you might have a touch more hesitation to face the Council-”

Rey’s grip on her datapads tighten fractionally. Not enough that Severn can see, but enough that the metal digs into her palm, grounding her. 

_Through strength, I gain power._

Her voice is clear and strong. The Final Order, built on Sith tradition, values strength above all else, and that means that Rey _must_ win this confrontation, or appear weak before an enemy. 

“Except that Krotho _isn’t_ an Inquisitor. Until he completes the trials, he’s only lesser scribe clumsily attempting to curry favor with the Emperor. And, if you’ll recall,” Rey says coolly, “A Princess of the Sith can expel anyone she pleases from the Palace. For any reason. And I have been provoked by less.”

A heady, dense pleasure steals into Rey’s chest at the look in Severn’s eyes. It’s the look that says, “I yield, for now” and it’s probably the closest thing to victory Rey could achieve short of outright killing Severn. 

But even Severn has to know that Krotho’s error had been undeniable. He struck Rey’s personal page, Marth, when the girl had looked a little too directly into his eyes. A direct challenge to Rey’s authority over her own staff. 

Infuriated, Rey stood, locked eyes with the Krotho, and threw him clean across the room with one flick of her wrist. It had been such a little thing, but she paid for it later. 

_It seems you have regenerated your strength quickly, my granddaughter. How you have grown._

No one at the court understood the true nature of Palpatine’s power over her. They thought her disobedience would anger her grandfather. But the real danger was that she had deeply pleased him with her viciousness, and giving him what he wanted made her want to crawl out of her own skin. The stronger she was, the more he benefited from her. 

She doesn’t _want_ to be what he wants from her, even though she can’t deny that she is. It’s that bitterness, that sense of powerlessness and shame that motivates her now. Not so different from the anger and fear the Sith are said to feed on. 

But remembering the Krotho incident makes Rey’s head ache even more. It must show on her face, because Severn’s eyes narrow. 

“Of course, your highness. I only meant that the Council seems a trifle up in arms today. Big news. Perhaps you’ve heard?”  
Severn is baiting Rey, because of course she _hasn’t_ heard. Nobody tells her anything. While her grandfather doesn’t specifically hide his plans, he certainly doesn’t volunteer information. What she does pick up comes piecemeal through favors, light espionage, and bribery. Her access to state secrets tends towards outright theft. 

But Rey just says, “Of course.”

Severn grins. “Then, may offer you a piece of advice?”

Severn leans her head forward slightly, as if asking permission. Ridiculous. Of all the things the woman could offer her, _advice_ is by far the most irritating. Hateful _snake._

“No.”

An old adage flits through her mind. Something from her younger days, when she’d first arrived here. 

_The benefit of a direct order is that it requires no qualification._

Rey turns, her fine boots heavy on the polished obsidian floor of the ante room, and leaves Severn where she stands. Beating Severn at court games always gives her an odd rush, but today, she’s glad for the boost. It gives her renewed energy as she strides towards the doors to the war room. Her scribe scurries up to her, flushed and out of breath. 

“Marth,” Rey says coolly. “You’re late.” 

The girl is perhaps sixteen, a Pantoran with pale blue skin and a constant manic energy. She was plucked from obscurity in the Academy and brought here to serve the Princess as a page and administrative aid in Rey’s daily work running the Palace. 

By all accounts, an interrupted Sith education is a damning fate for any young member of the Final Empire, but Rey remembers her own days at the Academy with little fondness, so she can’t say she regrets that Marth was spared the rigors of the Masters. 

And that mercy shows, somehow, in Marth’s eyes. She has a little more life in her than the likes of the others. 

“I beg your forgiveness, your highness,” Marth says, dropping to one knee and holding out her hands to take Rey’s stack of datapads. “I was beset by Lennix.”

While the girl’s head is bowed, Rey bites back a smile, thinking of the iron grip of the palace’s clothier. 

“A fate worse than death,” Rey says soberly. Marth’s simple administrative gown is indeed hanging remarkably neatly on her shoulders. “Take these, and rise.”

Clasping Rey’s datapads tightly to her narrow chest, Marth stands and nods. “Yes, highness.”

Pulling off her gloves one finger at a time and handing the discarded things to her page, Rey glances around the Receiving Hall once more. It all feels so improbable, even after all this time. A hidden world, buried deep underground. Utterly off the map. Unfindable, unless you already know where it is. 

She hands Marth her gloves and unclasps the gold band at her throat holding her cloak on her shoulders. It slips off into Marth’s expectant arms, and Rey forgets it instantly. 

“Marth, has something happened?” 

Marth’s hands go still for a moment. 

“I’m- I’m of course not privy to - to information and gossip is against-”

“Marth,” Rey snaps. 

The girl ducks down to tend to Rey’s gown, which allows her to conveniently avoid Rey’s eyes. 

Her receiving gown is a long, black thing with draping sleeves that brush the ground when her hands are at her side. It’s a simple style for Sith court fashion, but she’d had the gown custom made. The long sleeves conceal small, flat pockets where she stores trinkets- her knife, jewels, and the occasional Sith artifact best kept out of the public eye. 

Marth keeps her voice very low. “They’re saying that Snoke is dead.”

Rey blinks. Snoke? The leader of the First Order? Inconceivable. That organization had been her grandfather’s pet project for decades. 

Marth gathers Rey’s outerwear and bundles it off to a droid, who will take it back to her room for her. 

“They say the flagship burned up in orbit. And that he was killed by his own sithspawn- a demon in the shape of a man who-” At this, Marth seems to realize she’s stepping into the realm of gossip. “Well. That’s- that’s the story I heard.” 

“Hm,” Rey says. 

Is this development a good one for her? On the one hand, the death of a murderous tyrant is typically a good thing. On the other hand, some saber-happy warlord running around the galaxy assassinating masters might introduce an element of chaos she can’t afford. And if there’s a chance this supreme-leader-killer will come here, it might galvanize Palpatine. Her chance of survival in an accelerated timeline seem… dicey. 

Marth, meanwhile, is straightening out Rey’s gown and checking for anything that might mar her presentation. There’s no need to check the straightness of the simple crown on her head. It is unyielding in its perfection. 

“You’re ready, my lady.”

Rey takes a deep breath, gives Marth a nod, and tries to put the day’s news out of her mind. Her long-term future is an open question, but right now she needs to focus on making it through this meeting without revealing her unease. 

The doors to the War Room open for her as she approaches them, and Rey strides in with head held high. The room is long and narrow, occupied only by a single jet black table lined with the Final Order’s commanding council. At the edges of the room, fires burn in metal braziers, casting just enough light to reach her grandfather’s throne. 

Rey knows some of the High Council by name. A handful of Chiss, several Nemoidians, humans from various core worlds, a senator or two. Not that the Senate exists anymore, since the First Order blew it to smithereens. 

_A childish demonstration,_ her grandfather had called it. 

Stars, they blew up a whole planetary system. And now that organization has a new ruler. If Rey were that man, she would be coming for the next big fish in the galaxy. A man Rey just happens to be walking towards. 

There he sits, illuminated in front of a glowing, silvery-spun tapestry that stretches nearly three stories tall. Tall, languid, and elegant, he looks no more than in his early sixties, with a dark cloak pulled over his head.

Her entrance has interrupted a discussion, apparently. 

A high-ranking Final Order officer named Commander Draxtae is finishing a sentence, banging his fist on the table in bombastic emphasis. 

“-slaughtered his own master, cut him in _half_. He’s a rogue dog, and the might of the First Order is nothing compared to the Final Empire. We should-” 

At this, he notices her for the first time. 

Her grandfather, resplendent and at ease in his tall backed chair, gestures casually to the seat at his right hand. Rey slips into it, her heart in her throat. She has been in this room dozens of times, always on an errand. She is not permitted to sit in on war councils or give advice. Despite what people like Severn and Krotho might like to think, she has almost no power.

Her true value to the Emperor is far less political. 

The eyes of every council person in the room are on her, but Rey can’t afford to pay them much mind. Her body reacts to the sheer physical proximity of her grandfather with a feeling that is like fear, but not quite. It makes keeping her head level difficult, so she speaks to short, blunt sentences. 

“Grandfather, I have the records you sought.”

Up close, his face looks tired, his eyes a little dull. Rey swallows hard, knowing he will not suffer his infirmity for long. Lately he has been coming to her with increasing frequency. 

But his voice is light and pleasant. Calm. 

“Ah, excellent. Did the librarian object?” 

Palpatine’s face is even a little fond as he says it. 

Rey tries for a deferential smile, thinking of the persnickety librarian deep in the Archive. The old master hates interruption to the extent that he has multiple elaborate, hidden office spaces buried among the stacks. 

But Rey is good at sensing life forms. It’s a talent of hers. Not one the Emperor particularly values, but it comes in handy. Unbidden, Rey thinks again of that presence she sensed the other day.

 _If there is another, the Emperor can never know of him_. 

Quickly, she stifles the thought and says, “The librarian was happy to oblige when I told him who it was for-”

“And the texts?”

Rey gestures to Marth, standing at a respectful distance. The page scurries forward to hand Rey the stack of datapads with her head bowed so deeply that it’s amazing she doesn’t run into the table. 

“All accounted for. Sixteen volumes in facsimile. The original texts were damaged.”

Her grandfather frowns, flipping through the datapads and their neatly labeled index pages. “To lose our history, to lose our _legacy_ , is unforgivable. We owe a debt to the living Force, my girl. The destruction of the library at Veeshas Tuwan will be avenged.”

Rey tries to think of a crime against the Sith that _would_ be forgivable, but can’t.

And then, looking up at her, he says, “It has been too long since we spoke. Come to my study this evening.” 

His eyes flit to Draxtae, watching with narrowed eyes. 

Rey nods, but it is _hard._

Draxtae clears his throat, and her grandfather’s gaze slips to him. “Speak.”

“Why do we not send the girl?”

Rey stills. 

“Send the _girl?_ ”

The emperor says it like the idea is out of the question.

“The boy- the rabid curr- he’s like her. Strong in the Force, they say. She could lure him here. Kill him before he has the chance to become a threat.”

It’s like someone has electrocuted her. _He’s like her. Strong in the Force._

No. 

There’s no way the Snoke-killer and that bright, thrumming presence she’d sensed are one and the same. But how many other such people are there in the galaxy? What are the odds there are three of them? 

Incredibly low. 

Palpatine has stressed the significance of her rarity more than once. 

But if it’s true that the killer and the man she’d sensed are the same, and that type of power is currently loose in a destabilized galaxy… 

No, she decides. The death of Snoke is _definitely_ a bad thing, which means that whoever killed him is officially a threat to her. But being sent on a mission to _kill_ that man might be the first good thing to happen to her in years. 

For once, Rey’s agenda and the Final Order’s might actually align. 

But the Emperor only waves a dismissive hand. 

“Leave the boy to _me._ I don’t want my granddaughter involved. Her place is here, at my side.”

Rey’s mind races ahead. 

If this man, this king killer, has any knowledge of who exactly it was that orchestrated his master’s power and placement, then he’ll come here. For the fleet. For her. 

It’s what she would do if she were as powerful as they say he is.

A faint despair makes her fingers go cold. Apparently part of her had been hoping that that other person, the light in the darkness, would be someone she could… what? Befriend? Even thinking it makes her feel pathetic. 

She grits her teeth. 

Stars help her if a man like that got access to a fleet the scale of the Final Order’s armada. 

He has to be stopped. Before he gets here. Before her grandfather can sink his claws into him. 

“Grandfather,” Rey murmurs, steeling herself. “Let me go to him. I can kill him. I have a feeling. I think I could take care of this for us.”

It’s the most risky thing she’s said in months.

“I said no,” he says, his voice flat and dead as sand. “Do not give me cause to express myself more clearly.”

And then he puts a hand on her bare palm, turning it face up so that his thumb brushes the red scar that intersects her skin. A wave of sickening nausea surges through her for one awful heartbeat, but just as quickly, he releases her hand. 

“You understand me.” 

“Yes, grandfather,” Rey rasps. 

Apparently satisfied, Palpatine raises a hand and gently pats Rey’s cheek, smiling at her with a wide mouth full of perfect, pearly teeth. 

“Until tonight.”

His hands are so cold that she wonders if he has any feeling in them at all. 

* * *

Palpatine’s quarters are the only rooms in the huge structure that hovers above the surface of Exegol, which Rey always found odd. The entirety of the palace is under ground, but the large, blocklike structure could easily fit another, smaller palace within its depths. 

But to the best of her knowledge, there’s only the one set of chambers here. 

His private chambers. 

To access it, there is a large elevator that can only be operated by a Force user. One of Rey’s earliest tests growing up had been to lift the huge, duracrete structure into the air using the sheer force of her abilities. When she reached the top and docked the huge lift, she was sweating and exhausted, nearly wiped out by her efforts but thrilling in the sense of her own powerfulness. Her grandfather had been waiting for her. 

Much like he is tonight. 

When the lift emerges into the shadowy dimness, he is standing in front of the window, his back to her. His fine silk robes, black and red, trail on the floor. In one hand, she can see he is holding a brandy. Corellian, if she had to guess. 

“My lord,” Rey says, stepping over the threshold with a quick tug of her skirts. The glossy floors show her a dim reflection of herself as she paces to him. 

Her grandfather doesn’t look at her as she drops to one knee, her head bowed respectfully. 

She’d spent the day deep in meditation, trying to focus all her consciousness on the Force. That lasted for an hour, and then without even meaning to, she’d found herself focusing herself on him, instead. 

_Where are you?_

She hadn’t been able to find him again, even after sitting in the Room of Forgetting for the rest of the day. When she’d finally come back to herself, she’d felt tired and disconsolate. 

If only she could have come here armed with specific knowledge, some kind of tidbit she could have traded for access to a ship, or even a blaster-

The Emperor interupts her ruminations on her own frustration. 

“Peace is a lie,” he says, by way of greeting. 

“There is only passion,” Rey finishes automatically.

He turns to look at her, his expression neutral, and Rey finally meets his gaze. 

His face has his usual watery intensity, the same laconic edge in his smile. Nothing like the first time she’d seen him. Then, he’d been horrible. Gaunt and wan, pale with eyes clouded over like spoiled milk. He had not even seemed human, and she had no frame of reference for that kind of horror as an eleven year old child.

But here, now, he looks almost normal with his wrinkled skin, fine clothes, and a good set of teeth. His eyes, though. He never could _quite_ get rid of the red. 

“You are troubled,” he says. “You were troubled during the War Meeting. I could feel it in you.”

Rey curses herself for how poorly she marshalled her thoughts. Of _course_ he sensed her feelings. At least the irritation makes a nice change from the fear.

“I am troubled, my lord. By this Snoke-killer.”

His voice is cold, “Do you doubt my plans?” 

There’s a particular kind of fear that begins and ends with him.

Something saccharine and tormented and dark; as if there is some world where he loves her, and in that world she might live happily, might have everything she wanted. The gap between that world and this one, this world where her grandfather leans over her with her life in his hands, is a divide forged by cruelty and lies and _theft_. 

Hatred, hot and choking burns down her throat at the thought that she will never, ever live in a world where he loves her. That the most she can hope for is to survive, and if she’s lucky, save someone else from falling into the same pit where she’s currently crouching. 

Or, if she can’t _save_ him, the least she can do is kill him.

The Emperor senses her fear, her hatred, and Rey knows that his smile is because he can feel the power of that feeling radiating off her like heat. If it weren’t for that power, he would have ended her and her tender heart years ago. 

She uses that heat, that choking anger to find the courage to answer him now. 

“I speak as your granddaughter, not as your devoted servant,” Rey murmurs. “Will he not attempt the throne if he discovers your plans- your power, grandfather?” 

Leaning down, he says, “When I found you, I was sure it would be too late for you. So much time you’d been adrift, separated from your family. That kind of isolation isn’t good for a child. It makes them unstable. Difficult. But you did not die.”

Rey waits, wondering if he will answer her question. “No, grandfather. I yet live.”

Palpatine smiles. “I speak in riddles. But the man you fear, he is no threat to us.”

Crossing to her, Palpatine stops just in front of her, close enough that the hem of his robe brushes the tip of her elegant slipper. He extends a hand out, brushing her temple with his fingers. Rey tries very, very hard not to flinch.

And then, the feeling starts. 

First, at the very top of her head where his hands brush the crown. A kind of void in her mind like the vacuum of space being opened up into her body. And then it _spreads._

His voice is the only thing. There is nothing else. 

“So powerful, yet you are no Sith. No true apprentice. You arrived too late for that. Your knowledge of the dark side is rudimentary. You reject the Way at every turn.” 

With one hand held over her temple, he steals the Living Force that curls inside her and pulls it into his body. The Sith crown on her head magnifies his effort, sending all of her power up through her body and into his. 

It is an awful, terrible thing. 

It was designed for just this purpose. It delights in the task. She can _feel_ it. 

The void spreads to her chest, a foreign hand reaching behind her sternum and pulling the fabric of something vital and living inside her, something that kicks and fights and screams as it is yanked out of her. 

It takes all the energy she has to hold herself back from fighting it. She must not fight. Must not argue. Peace is a _lie._

His voice is a drawl. “You were the key to everything. How odd. Someone so small, so powerless, could be so useful.”

She digs her toes into her shoes, bites her lip, squeezes her nails into her palm, and finds that feeling and clings to it. The pain is something he doesn’t bother to take from her. It is everything _else_ that he wants. 

Dimly, Rey sees herself at thirteen, triumphant as she reached these quarters for the first time. She leapt from the stone platform in triumph, expecting a congratulations or an approving nod. Instead, her grandfather beckoned to an alchemist in the shadows, a seething crown held between two metal tongs. It singed the very _air_. 

Here and now, Rey slumps forward as the void reaches her feet, pulling at the last dregs of the Force from within her. Palpatine lets go of her, sighs deeply, and says something she can’t even interpret. The awful feeling of her essence leaving her body finally stops, and his hands, warm now, catch her just before her head hits the stone. 

Gently, with his face tilted beatifically down at her, he lays her onto her side and looks into her face with bright, shining eyes. 

There is nothing in her that answers him. No spark. No feeling or fear or memory. She is a husk of a body, drained of the essential life force that makes a human a human. His smile means nothing to her. It is a simple contortion of muscle, and her eyes drift closed. 

In the darkness of her body, Rey falls into an infinite nothing. A great gasp of forever that stretches in all directions. 

Her own voice echoes back to her. 

_I am going to die like this. I am going to die like this. I am going to_ **_die_ ** _like this._

Then, out of nowhere, she senses him again. That presence. The other one.

There is an infinity, there is nothing, and there is him. 

As Rey falls asleep, her last thought is that _whoever_ he is, whatever has done, he is awake now. 

Awake, and headed straight for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> This fic was inspired by [this incredible tweet from Selunchen!](https://twitter.com/selunchen/status/1209859523093106690) Her art is amazing and she's super wonderful so please go give her a follow. 
> 
> Big ups to [Casey](https://twitter.com/caseydoesfandom) for beta reading this chapter. She is truly an icon and this opening chapter would have been 40% worse without her input. 
> 
> I'm most active on [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites), and I'd love to have you join me there. I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates. 
> 
> Rey's dress to meet the emperor is [Paolo Sebastian couture from spring 2019](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/02/7c/43/027c43c7eeff50e71a5ded56e7194b9c.jpg)
> 
> The emperor's robes are based on these [incredible custom Sith robes by Twin Roses Designs](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/e0/bc/c8/e0bcc875803cb67b10737590d31134af.jpg)
> 
> Marth is a young version of [ the female Pantoran in this tabletop Star Wars game.](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/star-wars-rpg-ffg/images/a/a4/Pantoran_duo.jpg/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/340?cb=20170524121954)
> 
> If you liked this story, I'd really appreciate a kudos and a comment.


	2. 2

* * *

**CHAPTER** **TWO**

* * *

When she wakes up, she is laying in her own bed. 

Her mouth is dry, and there’s a damp towel across her temples. Marth, slumped in a chair next to Rey’s bed, is asleep with her mouth lolled open, her jacket draped over her chest like a blanket. There’s a cold cup of tea next to her. 

Rey blinks, adjusting to consciousness. 

So she survived. She adds another tick mark to the tally scribed inside her mind. 

_Times my grandfather didn’t kill me._

By her count, she’s the galactic champion. 

Her humor, thank stars, is one of the first things that comes back to her after these episodes. Her physical strength, though, takes its sweet time lurching back to her. 

She doesn’t try and sit up; she’ll vomit. Instead she just lays there, breathing in and out, feeling the air come into and out of her lungs. 

Her rooms are very dimly lit, thank god.

It’s a space she designed to be comforting and shadowy. There are Pasannan rugs lining the floor, her bed is covered in fine needlepoint damask with canopy that trails luxuriously onto the floor in a silky pool. Corellian flame miniatures, midnight blue because it’s evening, float at the edges of the room, flickering and waving like real fire as they chase the shadows away.

One corner is just a huge desk, lined with scrap metal parts, commlinks, and datapads she is in the process of rewiring or fixing up. And, of course, there’s all her reading materials and the wardrobes full of clothes. Most of the gowns were gifts from visiting courtiers seeking to win her favor, but she likes them well enough. Gossamer, dark things dreamt up by exotic clothiers on planets she’ll never see in person. And it pleases her grandfather to see her dressed up, a walking monument to his legacy, his history, his _art._

As a girl, she’d once burned all her dresses in a fit of rage. Palpatine had only laughed, charmed by her petulance, and slapped her across the face for the waste. 

But finery is something she has never been denied, and her chambers are one of the few things her grandfather doesn’t try and control. She can almost hear him now. 

_A private sanctuary is the privilege of rank._

But nothing truly belongs to her except the pain in her body. Slowly, she moves her hands and toes. The feeling comes back quickly enough, which is a relief. 

Marth stirs, then sits up sharply.

“My lady,” she breathes, eyes instantly alert. “Forgive me- I didn’t mean to-”

Rey just groans, closing her eyes and turning her face back into the pillow.

“How long was I out?” 

“It’s been 21 hours,” Marth says, glancing at her datapad. “And you didn’t even hit your head!” Marth says brightly. 

“Hrmph,” Rey manages. 

“He must not have taken too terribly much this time,” Marth says. “I checked the log; this is your fastest recovery yet.”

“Marth. My faithful servant. Please stop talking.”

“Well, if it’s all the same to you, I’ll go get you some food. The fresher is ready for you.”

Into her covers, Rey grumbles, “No food. I’m nauseous. Caf. Strong caf, Marth. None of the servant’s drivel. I want the good stuff. Thick enough to _chew._ I think-”

“The Pamarthan brew, I know, I know, my lady.” 

“Don’t tell anyone I’m awake. I don’t want a med droid.”

Marth hesitates. “My lady… you’re awfully pale. Last time-”

“Marth,” Rey snaps. “Obey me.” 

Marth is on her feet in a moment, darting for the door with her light, agile tread and a hasty, “Yes, my lady.”

Rey regrets the harshness, but she can’t handle arguing with her page right now. She just can’t. 

When the door shuts and she is alone, Rey tries sitting up. The nausea is swift, but it passes after a few moments of focused breathing. She’s wearing the silk undergarments she usually wears beneath her formal clothes. Marth must have slipped the fine gray dress off of her.

Rey closes her eyes and focuses her attention on the Force. There’s a proper Sith way to do this- but then, Rey isn’t a Sith. Her grandfather taught her to steep her body in her anger, to dredge up the fear and suffering inflicted upon her and wallow in it until the Living Force fills her up. 

But right now? She’s too exhausted to even feel angry. 

The good news is that if he had taken _all_ her life Force, then she would be dead. Or at least, mostly dead. Presently, she is only 70% dead. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

One heartbeat, two.

_Peace is a lie. There is only passion._

_The Force shall free me._

_The Force shall free me._

A clumsy meditation, but no one ever asked anything better of her.

The Force flows into her, revitalizing her. These things take time of course, but the sleep and the meditation help tremendously. By the time Marth returns with a tray, Rey’s optimistic she can manage standing up again. 

Sending a quick prayer to the ghosts of old gods that she doesn’t throw up all over the girl, Rey stands. Her usual robe is draped over the end of her bed, and she shrugs the silky, ridiculous thing on. It’s not nearly warm enough, but she can’t quite face the daunting distance of her wardrobe across the room. 

She walks unsteadily to the fresher, and after a much needed freshening up, flops down gingerly into her favorite armchair. A protocol droid enters, setting down a tray with another cup of tea on it.

Marth frowns. She’s territorial about her role, and bringing Rey food and beverage is a mark of high honor reserved for human servants. 

“I’ve already brought the tray.”

The droid responds with trademark blandness. “It was left for me with a coda to bring it to her highness.”

“ _Who_?” Marth says, irritated.

Rey waves a hand. “Drop it. The more caf the better.”  
Pleased to be dismissed, the droid turns back to the room, tidying up and organizing the day’s memos and datapads to be sorted and dealt with. 

To distract her outraged page, Rey says, “How bad are my comms at the moment?”

“Oh, horrible,” Marth says, pointedly handing Rey the cup of caf that she’d fetched. It’s dark and fragrant, the warm, bitter scent wafting up. Rey drinks it black, and it is _good._

Her voice is a little hoarse. “Can you bring me up to speed?” 

_A whole day gone._

Marth, mindful of manners, pointedly doesn’t sit until Rey invites her to, and then she sprawls back with her usual coltish physicality. The datapad in her hands shines a bright light onto her blue skin. 

“Well, it looks like Moff Tantor and his creepy crew of Chadra-Fan workers are experiencing a delay in the construction of the new Academy building. And then… _something something_ ventilation protocol something something material embargo-”

“Next.”

“Uh, looks like there was some kind of issue with a heating coil in the lower-”

“Next.”

“It’s Grand Admiral Voschek’s name day-”

Rey makes a scoffing noise loud enough to startle the cleaning droid besetting her covers. 

Marth gives her an impish smile. “No, this is fun. He sent _you_ a gift.”

“For _his_ name day?”

“A speeder. The handles are lined with Chandrillan pearls.”

Rey grins. “How _terrible.”_

Marth hesitates, one booted foot digging into the carpet. “My lady, why do they send you gifts?” 

Rey glances at her page. At the hopeful, curious look on her face. She sighs. Marth has a sweet spot for the idea that Rey will find love. It’s … irritating. 

Flatly, Rey says, “Voschek thinks I’ll put in a good word for him. He’s up for a promotion, I believe. The administration see me at the Emperor’s ear and they think… they think I have the power to influence him.”

“Don’t you?” 

“Marth, you’ve been my page for three years. In that time, have you ever seen a single comm make its way to my desk that had anything to do with the actual government? Anything political? Any questions about strategy or ship building or anything?”

Marth looks down at her hands and says nothing.

With a grunt, Rey gets to her feet, a little revived by the caf and the conversation. The more time that passes, the better she’ll feel, but it will be a few days before she’s back operating at full power. 

Moving to her wardrobe, Rey takes her time picking a dress. Nothing with buttons or complicated straps. Nothing with gauzy lace that will catch on pointy objects. Tonight, she cannot afford to trip. 

“But, you do have some power,” Marth says. “The servants. They like you. And the droids.”

Something in her tone makes Rey pause. 

Rey gives her page a stern look. “Is there something you want, Marth? Something you want to ask me for?”

There is no servant of the Final Order that has ever escaped this planet unless ordered by the Emperor. If Marth is hoping that Rey can get her off-planet, she is mistaken. 

Marth visibly winces at Rey’s harsh tone, and Rey pinches the bridge of her nose. She’d spoken too sharply. Been too harsh. She’s _always_ too harsh with Marth. Nobody ever answered Rey’s honest questions with kindness, so Rey’s instinct is never to react that way with Marth. 

“No, my lady.”

Rey hesitates. She should say something to the girl. But frankly, she has no advice to offer. 

“Come, help me dress.”

There’s no official rule that she _has_ to dress in shades of black, red, and gray, but on days that she wears colors, she’s often the only bright thing for miles around. It draws too much attention. Still. There’s a particular confection in the back of her wardrobe made of lilac shot-silk… 

Rey diverts her attention to a sleek, slate gray gown with a neckline that plunges just a little daringly. It would draw attention away from her sunken expression and sallow skin, surely? 

Marth moves to remove the dress from the hangar. 

“Oh, before I forget, there was one more thing,” she says, her tone resuming its usual bright chirp. “There’s a visitor arriving tomorrow.”

“Who?”

A flicker of unease kicks up in her chest. To distract herself, she walks over to the second coffee tray and makes a flimsy pretense of sweetening it. 

As Rey lifts the cup to her lips, thinking about Snoke and the First Order, a flutter of paper catches her eye. Actual paper. 

Rey grabs it, blocking Marth’s view of the tray with her body.

“I’m not sure, my lady. There wasn’t a name on the landing clearance log.”

“I’m sure it’s a new senator. Confidential clearance,” Rey says distractedly as she unfurls the note. 

_The heater is broken on level 14. We are so cold and they refuse to fix it._

Rey sighs, crumpling the note up in her fist and walking to the fire. With a slight movement of her hand, she throws it in and watches as it burns to ash and atoms. 

“Actually, Marth, there’s no point in dressing; it’s nearly dinner, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I’m afraid lack the strength to venture out to the court. I’m going to stay here and rest.”

“Oh, excellent,” Marth says, sounding genuinely pleased. “My lady, I’m so glad you’re taking care of-”

“You’re dismissed for the evening.” And then, softening her voice and turning to give Marth a smile, she says, “Take the night off. You earned it for sitting up with me in my sickness.”

Marth beams. “Thank you my lady.”

“Go on,” Rey says, shooing her. “Go… do an amusement.” 

Marth places the gown back in the wardrobe with endearing reverence and then all but skips out of the room. What does Marth _do_ when she’s not working? Rey can’t even guess. There are recreation facilities at the Palace. 

But that question is less interesting than the business at hand: the note.

It’s not the first time she’s received a note like this, but it _is_ the first one that has made it all the way to her _tea tray_. 

Lesser servants, slaves, and low level aids will occasionally petition her for help. Rey thinks it probably started after she once stopped an Inquisitor from killing one of the mess hall boys over a suspected issue with his papers. Typical Inquisitor neuroticism, but that day she couldn’t keep her head down, couldn’t ignore it. The boy was a child. He hadn’t chosen this life. 

So she lied- said something about how the kid was a staffer on her personal ship, and that if the Inquisitor touched him she would have his dominant hand for a paper weight. The whole thing was blatant nonsense; she didn’t even _have_ a ship. But the Inquisitor took one look at the crown on her head and backed right down. It _worked_ , and sometime later a note appeared in her cloak pocket thanking her for her intervention.

And then, some time later, another note appeared, this time from a maintenance worker begging for the release of his friend from an isolation room for some crime that Rey hadn’t bothered to learn. 

And now… a broken heater. Less dramatic, but the Palace gets _cold_ in the lower levels. Cold enough to be dangerous. The 14th floor is a residential floor, and it’s night now; it’ll only be getting colder. 

Rey glances down at her silk underthings and gets heavily to her feet. Physically, she is so run down that she isn’t certain she’s going to be able to take the stairs. It’s a risk to use the elevators; it will record that someone was moving about after hours. But her unsteady steps and shallow breathing betray her. She isn’t strong enough to do this by foot.

The thought is so aggravating that she has to take a minute. The anger is helpful- she can use it. She pulls it into herself and tries to follow the Sith method.

_“Something something pain and strength”,_ she mumbles. Her head spins with the effort. Grimacing, Rey snaps out of it and tugs on a black canvas jumpsuit and a coarse black sweater, pulling her hair back into a technician’s bun. It would be a passable disguise if everyone in the royal household didn’t know what she looked like. But the goal tonight is concealment, not outright disguise. 

Time to go fix a heater, apparently. 

She draws her cloak back on, glances at the crown, but ignores it. If she’s good, no one will see her. 

Exiting her room, Rey walks carefully down the long hallway to the staircase to the Palace’s shadowy Great Hall, home to a handful of select Sith artifacts on sharply illuminated pedestals. At this hour, its only occupants are the night droids trolling underfoot, delivering messages, cleaning the cavernous rooms, and generally posing a trip hazard to any and all courtiers up past bedtime. 

Her breath comes shallowly, and she wishes furiously that the Sith were the type of civilization to appreciate the virtues of a good handrail. But if a palace resident falls down the stairs, her grandfather will only think of it as culling the herd. 

Palpatine strictly forbids movement around the Palace after dark. But then, she’s not a courtier. She goes where she pleases. 

From the hall, Rey ducks into a low-ceilinged corridor concealed by a large tapestry depicting a grotesque Sith battle that she’s never been able to identify. Down this hallway she presses, walking totally in the dark but for a small glow from her cloak clasp, whose Sith rune throws dim light in front of her when she gives it a murmured command in the Sith tongue. 

The servant hallways are dimmed at night to make it harder for them to move around unattended, but Rey knows them by heart at this point anyway. She grew up in this palace. 

By the time she makes it into the service lift, blackness that has nothing to do with the lack of lighting is spotting her vision. She slumps against the durasteel side of the lift as it descends swiftly and silently. Her throat burns, her chest feels like someone has lit a fire inside it, and her legs are shaking.

Down, down, down.

When the elevator finally reaches the 14th floor, Rey uses what little Force strength she has to crush the little box that makes the elevator ding, and the doors slide open noiselessly. 

The corridor is dark, lined only with dim, industrial task lighting. Slowly, she makes for the floor’s maintenance panel. After a quick glance to be sure that no one is coming, she opens it to reveal an exposed wiring board with a digital ordinator blinking out an error code. A simple thing. A broken transponder. She just needs to switch out the wire.

Reaching into a pocket in her jumpsuit, she pulls out her tiny pair of wire pliers and unscrews the protective tubing housing the interior wiring system. A few moments later and she rips out the defective wire, fastens the repaired wire, and melds the two together with another flicker of Force energy. Re-sealing the wire casing, she glances back at the ordinator screen. The error code is gone. 

She’s so exhausted now that she struggles to get the panel back on, but by the time she does she can hear the sound of a heating coil kicking to life. 

Despite the exhaustion, she smiles. Easy work. Honest work. Her first in weeks. 

It’s right then that she hears it. 

Footsteps. 

Many, many footsteps, descending down the stairs. Rey blanches. Even if it’s just servants, she cannot be caught down here. Pulling her hood up over her distinctive hair, Rey slips down the hallway and shoulders her way into the first open door she can find, thanking the stars for the gift of adrenaline. It’s a maintenance hatch leading to yet another aimless unlit service corridor, but the hatch she’s hiding behind has a grate she can peer through. 

Seconds pass, and then she sees the figures of a high ranking Final Order officer striding past, two cloaked Sith acolytes trailing behind with their usual blank expression and odd Force energy. Standing too close to one of them always gives Rey a persistent sense of unease, like there’s an electromagnetic coil being held too close to her chest. 

_But where are they going?_

Rey cracks the door and pokes her head out, glancing at their backs as they pass down the hallway into the shadows where she can’t see them. Rey holds her breath, reaching out with the Force, searching for - for _anything._

Her senses are on high alert. All she can hear is the sound of her own breathing in the freezing air, the hum of the heater, the faint metallic ringing that always seems to pervade the lower hallways at night.

And then- the sound of a door being ripped off its hinges. 

Her heart leaps to her throat as a male voice yells something in fright. 

“Bring him,” Commander Draxtae barks. 

Then she hears another yell, but this time an annoyed one. 

“You might have just comm’d me. He isn’t even _here_ yet. No need for this yanking out of bed in a clandestine- _ow!”_

Booted footsteps again.

Rey darts back behind the maintenance door just in time to avoid being seen. As the figures walk by, she recognizes the face of the Alchemist, a man whose skill at forging and disfigurement have earned him a place of high honor among the ranks of the Final Order.

It was this man, whose first name nobody knows, who created the clasp at her throat, the holocrons and wayfinders that are the currency of the Sith legacy.

A familiar and nauseating hatred fills her. 

The alchemist had been the man who made the Sith Crown. 

He’s a legend. And he’s being dragged from his bed in the dead of night? 

The figures pass, and she sees that the alchemist’s hands aren’t bound, and he doesn’t appear afraid. Just annoyed.

Draxtae is saying something very low. Rey catches only two words. 

“-changed plans-” 

As he passes her hiding place, for one awful moment, the alchemist’s gaze flicks to the hatch. He looks _right_ at her. And then he’s gone. The figures disappear down the stairs, their footsteps disappearing into nothingness. 

The adrenaline has abandoned her now, and she has to sink to the floor for a minute to collect herself. Pieces shift into place.

The unknown visitor. The figure in the Force. The king killer. 

The Alchemist was the man who made the Sith Crown. He’d handed it to her grandfather. His face had been a mask of sick glee as he’d watched the hated thing settle on her temples, singeing her hair. He’d watched idly as she’d tried to pull it off, the searing metal burning the scar into her palm. 

She _hates_ the alchemist. Hates him so much that - 

The anger and the weakness coalesce into a wave of nausea so strong that Rey is sick right there on the slate tiles, heaving up what little was in her stomach. Tears burn her eyes, because trying to retch silently is the only possible way that retching could be made worse. The only small mercy is that it’s pitch black in this hallway and she doesn’t have to _look_ at it. 

By the time she’s done, she leans back against the cool walls, feeling miserable and sick and scared.

A flicker inside her. The feeling of two-ness again. It limps to her as if wounded. 

There aren’t words that she hears this time. She’s too tired. All she’s conscious of is a kind of wary probing. Something questioning.

Annoyed that he’d pick right now to bother her, she sends a furious thought his way.

_Get out. He knows. Don’t come here._

And then, without any warning, she falls asleep.

There aren’t dreams. No one dreams here; there are too many Sith artifacts in the vicinity for that. But she has a vague sense of unease that pervades her mind, something staticky that grows until it is a swell of noise like an ion engine in subatmospheric conditions, which is the only place she’s ever _heard_ and engine except for once. It surges and grows until it is so loud that- 

With a jolt and a tiny, stifled cry, she wakes. It’s the same pitch black hallway. The same cool stone. The rest has restored her, and she finds the strength to stand up. A quick mental sweep of the life forms around her comes back dormant. Everyone’s asleep. 

It takes her nearly five minutes to make it to the elevator, and by the time the doors shut, she’s fighting the urge to doze off again. Her body is trying to shut her down, to regenerate in peace. 

_If he could kill his master, then I can stay conscious for ten more minutes._

And then, she hears him.

_You’re alive. You didn’t die._

It’s not actual words- not like he’s a voice in her head or a Sith projection, it’s just that fuzzy awareness that there is someone else who is very near to her in the Force. Horrified, Rey realizes that he must have been there the whole time, that he hadn’t left when she’d fallen asleep. He’d been there in her head and she _hadn’t even noticed._

She’s so surprised that she has to press a hand against her abdomen just to reassure herself that yes, she is in fact inhaling air. 

“Get out,” she snarls. “Get _out._ ”

With a mental shove she pushes him. If this guy were here in front of her, she knows that she would have hit him with whatever was within arm’s reach for slipping past her guard, for articulating the very thought that has kept her company all the times she’s nearly died on her grandfather’s floor- 

Something about that kind of intimacy is unforgivable. 

By the time the elevator reaches the main floor, he’s out of her head and she has calmed down somewhat. Disturbed, but feeling stronger after the unexpected nap, she walks down the service corridor and out from behind the Sith tapestry.

She’s surprised to see Marth bustling towards her at top speed.

"Marth," Rey hisses, trying not to gasp for air in front of her page. "What are you doing down here? You know the rules-"

But Marth's bright eyes are vivid with fear. "My lady, there's a ship."

"What ship?" Rey says. “We’re not expecting anyone tonight.”

"I don't know," Marth says, dropping her voice to a low whisper. 

Rey blinks at her, stunned. 

"What do you mean you don't know?"

There are less than a dozen ships with clearance to land here. 

The girl dips a bow, and keeps her voice very low as she says, "I was in the gallery just now and I heard the guard go by. They were talking about a ship- and someone in it. They were headed to the surface." 

Rey blanches, both that her page was out at night in the gallery _and_ that she's passing along information about the movement of the guard. Marth will be executed if anyone finds out.

What was she doing there? And how did she know to find Rey here? 

Raising her voice slightly, Rey projects annoyance. "Lazy creature, I ordered you to meet me here an hour ago. I am most displeased." And then leaning down as if to glower imperiously, Rey drops her voice to a low whisper. "Marth, go to my quarters and lock the doors. Right now."

Marth straightens, rummaging in a pocket as she nods. "Yes, my lady." 

Without additional comment, the girl presses a bun and a piece of hard cheese wrapped in coarse fabric into her hands. This is a servant's meal, and Rey knows that Marth must have saved it from her own dinner tray.

The kindness- so unexpected in these dark, lofty rooms, brings a quick sting of tears to her eyes. It's only the physical exhaustion that makes her react this way. If she were at full power there's no way she'd ever cry. A little lost for words, Rey takes the bun and presses Marth's hands in a quick, grateful squeeze. 

Louder, Rey says, "I expect those comms to be completely organized by dawn. Now, go."

Marth skitters away, making for the stairs.

Rey waits until Marth is gone before quickly eating the bread and cheese. The food revives her, and the nerves in her chest give her some additional strength. She glances at the long, obsidian stairs that lead up to the planet’s surface, wishing she could risk a quick scan with the Force. But she’s terrified to feel _him_ there, too. 

Realistically, Rey knows that she shouldn’t investigate this. 

She’s weak, exhausted emotionally and physically. She’s taken an enormous risk this evening as it is. Rey bites into the last bit of bread and brushes the crumbs from her flight suit, setting her jaw.

_What is unexpected,_ she hears her grandfather say, _is always an opportunity._

Rey walks forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the comments on the last chapter. Wow. It was so validating. I'm so excited!!! 
> 
> If you'd like to hang out, I'm most active on [my Twitter](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites), and I'd love to have you join me there. I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates. 
> 
> Big thank you to my girl [Casey](https://twitter.com/caseydoesfandom) for beta reading this chapter, and the last one. She's literally my rock. A darling granite pebble who I love. 
> 
> Oh and what's that? You wanted to see inspiration for [Rey's bedroom?](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites/status/1215101843094806533) And also her [silk underthings?](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites/status/1215101541755039744) Have at it. 
> 
> If you liked this story, I'd really appreciate a kudos and a comment.


	3. 3

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

* * *

When she reaches the surface of the planet, the fresh air whips against her face with punishing clarity. She feels energized, but not strong. Ahead of her, the Emperor’s Guard stands in grim attendance around the enormous stone slab that serves as the lift to his private quarters. They are waiting for something. 

One approaches, indistinguishable in his red helmet from the others.

“Highness, please return to your quarters.”

Rey glares at him. He has no power to command her. He is not strong enough to overpower her, even as weak as she is. At least, not by himself, anyway. But he seems to understand that she isn’t exactly supposed to be here right now. Everything she’s ever experienced in her life has taught her how to respond to a power struggle like this one. 

“You. Kneel,” Rey snarls at him. 

The guard hesitates, and then obeys her.

Whipped by the wind, her hair streaming, her legs trembling imperceptibly, Rey approaches the guard and puts one hand on the top of his gleaming helmet. She can _feel_ him. He’s not afraid- they knock that out of the guards well before puberty. Members of the Emperor's Guard have been present when her grandfather has placed a hand on her head like this. They all know what it means. This guard in particular might have even been there to witness her shame, had seen her fall to her knees and pass out like a helpless child. Perhaps not.

She could punish him for a crime like that.

But tonight, Rey makes a different choice. With one swift movement, she kicks his breastplate with her booted foot so hard that he falls completely over with a grunt of surprise. 

Rey settles her boot back on the ground. She doesn’t need the Force to assert herself here. She doesn’t even need the crown. 

“You will stay like that,” Rey says coldly, “Until I bid you to rise.”

“Yes, highness,” the guard grunts. 

Rey turns her attention back to the distance. The void between the Under Palace and the hulking mass of the Above Palace is about two stories tall, and the misty distance of Exegol’s surface is opaque with fog. She won’t be able to see him until he approaches.

But Rey is good at waiting, and she draws her cloak tighter around her shoulders and stands there. When she finally hears the scream of a TIE fighter on approach, she tenses.

The ship lands with an excruciating scream of metal and ionization. 

One minute. Two. And then- there he is. 

The energy she has felt, the presence glinting in the dark, the _other one_ strides toward her. 

First, she notices the mask. It is black and broken and sealed back together along red seams. Then, she notices the black clothes he wears, torn oddly across the forearm. He has a cloak, too, rather like her own. 

But what really strikes her is the way he moves.

Broad, blunt, and direct, he _advances_ rather than walks. He doesn’t look at the guards or the lightning slicing through the fog, he just strides toward her like nothing could stop him, like he is confident nothing would dare to try.

The fear he fills her with is so visceral that for a moment she considers running. She could bolt faster than him, get so hidden that he could never find her. 

“It’s you,” he says, and immediately she knows that it’s far, far too late to run.

His voice is gentle. Almost, but not quite, soft. 

Rey tries to get herself to say something, but she’s struck silent on the sudden conviction that she hadn’t really thought he would actually come here. Some part of her thought that he would be the one to run. That she was well and truly alone. And yet- 

_He’s like her._

Behind her, the rough voice of one of the imperial guard cuts into her reverie. 

“The Emperor is expecting you.”

The man in black doesn’t move. Doesn’t react at all. He looks straight at Rey.

“I’d hate to keep an _emperor_ waiting.”

Stars, it is bizarre to hear him speak out loud. It’s so different than the vague sense of him she’d had; he’s here and he can talk and he is _really_ tall. 

He takes a step forward, and suddenly, she’s talking. 

“Where is your ship?”

“Smashed to atoms a few clicks behind me,” he says. 

Her throat is so tight, but she _finally_ manages to stand up straight. “You crashed it?”

“Your planet’s atmosphere is made of lightning,” he deadpans. “Yes, I crashed it.”

Behind them, she can hear the guards inch closer, their boots loud and ungainly on the coarse surface of the planet. 

Rey snaps her focus back to the here and now. "Right. Come."

When she turns, he falls into step beside her, and suddenly they are walking side by side. Two miserable, black-cloaked fools. 

They reach the lift, and she points at it. “You have to lift us. It’s a test.”

It’s not like she’s going to _admit_ she has no strength to lift it herself. They both step up, and Rey is immensely relieved that the lift is big enough to leave some space between their two bodies. It's odd enough to see him in the flesh, she hardly needs to touch him on top of that. 

But he makes no move to follow her order, because his attention is fixed on the guard lying prone on the ground.

“Is he dead?” 

He doesn’t sound overly troubled by the question. 

"Oh, that. Guard, rise."

He leaps to his feet and instantly returns to his formation, dissolving back into anonymity. 

The masked man (she’ll be damned if _she_ asks for his name first) just looks at her, as unreadable as the statues in the Hall of Victors. The mask is going to have to go. 

Suddenly, the lift begins to rise. The initial lift is more of a lurch, really, and she’s startled enough to reach out and grab his arm for support. He looks sharply at her but makes no move to shove her off. Recovering herself, Rey takes a hasty step back to get as far away from him as she can get without toppling over the edge. 

Gods, this was a mistake. What is she thinking? She’s too weak to be here. He could push her off this lift and kill her just like that. If she can sense the strength, the raw power radiating off him, he must certainly be able to sense her weakness. Shame like a hot tide burns her cheeks. 

_I could push him._

The thought arrives unbidden, awful and sudden. He’s distracted, his attention focused on lifting them up. One shove and- 

And what? She’s too tired to manage lifting the platform, and then they’d both plummet to their deaths. And if she survived, she’d have to go on living with a shame of that magnitude on her name. 

How her grandfather would _laugh._

So the lift rises, and when they emerge in her grandfather’s private quarters and the masked man docks the lift, she blows out a long breath and strides forward as fast as she can. 

The Emperor is standing there, lit by the light of two fires burning pale blue in opposite grates. 

Rey drops to one knee. The man remains standing. 

"So, you've met. Good." And here, her grandfather turns. “Kylo Ren. Welcome.” 

_Kylo Ren. He is a real person and his name is Kylo Ren._

Kylo takes a step forward, and it’s that same intent, blunt movement. He would be… formidable with a lightsaber. 

His voice is raw and caustic, very different from how he’d seemed below. 

“I killed Snoke."

The Emperor smiles, opening his hands in a gesture of fond regret. “Did he tell you? About yourself?” 

“Yes.”

“And in your anger, you struck him down?” 

Kylo Ren clenches a fist. “Why would I continue to serve a man who was only a puppet?”

The Emperor's voice is mild. "And now you're here for me now.”

He doesn’t understand, can’t understand that his soft voice, his fine embroidered robes, are all a lie. 

"I cut Snoke in half," Kylo says coldly. "And I'm here so you can give me one single reason why I shouldn't do the same to you."

The intent in his voice is lethal, but she still hears that odd detachment- a note of amusement that makes no sense to her. How can he be calm? 

Rey risks a glance up and finds that the Emperor is looking at her. Rey drops her head again, wishing that she could just flatten herself into the floor and disappear. Whatever is about to happen, whatever possible reason her grandfather has for looking at her, is going to be unpleasant.

"Grandchild, stand."

Rey rises, glances at Kylo, and scowls when she remembers the mask. 

The Emperor takes a few steps forward, until he is at the apex of a perfect triangle of their three bodies.

Turning to Rey with a smile on his face, the Emperor says, “Kill him.”

Rey goes blank, every fiber in her body responding with one universal response. _No._

“Grandfather?” 

“You offered before, didn’t you? Strike him down. I’ll even level the playing field” he says, extending a hand. A metal object flies from Kylo Ren’s belt, landing heavily in the emperor’s palm. And then- 

_He tosses the saber to her._

It lands in her grip with a heavy, metallic thud. Her finger goes for the activation switch, her lifting from the hilt to meet her grandfather’s gaze directly.

He has given her a weapon. Not just any weapon- the most dangerous kind of weapon in the galaxy. It’s heavy and solid, and she wonders if her grandfather realizes that she isn’t wearing his crown tonight.

Before she can act, Kylo Ren knocks her down with such force that she sees _stars._

He’s going for the saber, and before she can even get up the metal hilt is gone from her hands. 

He towers above her, impossible to read, the unlit saber held so hard that she can hear the leather of his gloves stretching. She can see his breaths coming hard, which is strange because this has to be the shortest duel in the history of duels. 

Still, he doesn’t make a move to attack, only returns the saber to his belt with practiced ease. Turning away, he walks back to her grandfather and leaves her there on the ground like she’s _nothing_.

Rey’s anger is a bolt of electricity- she reaches a hand out, forgetting her exhaustion and her fear, and pulls as hard as she can on the fabric of the Living Force _._

Kylo Ren flies back, landing awkwardly in a crouch before whirling around to face her. Okay, so not exactly the knockout move she’d been aiming for, but at least he’s not insulting her with his disregard. 

_Look at me. Look at me and know me and fear me and-_

She’s on her feet and running for him, her knife in her hand, and when she’s close enough she swerves around the arm he’s raising and kicks him _hard_ in the knee. He doesn’t fall, but it doesn’t matter -- she’s sliding past him and her hand is wrapped around the metal of his saber again, and with a grunt of pleasure she lifts it from his belt.

He’s on her in an instant, his arm going hard and uncomfortable around her neck, lifting her onto her toes as he flattens her against his chest with no care for her windpipe. Dimly, she is annoyed that a man of his size is as quick as he is. She struggles, gripping the saber and trying to find the switch. But there’s not enough oxygen, and she can feel his gloved hand wrapping around her own, prying her fingers off the button. 

If he gets the saber, it’s over for her. 

Desperately, she reaches out with her mind and grabs onto something- anything. His arm slackens and she gasps for air as they both go hurtling towards the ground, because what she’d _grabbed_ was the tile slab underneath them. 

Of course, she’s far too weak to lift an enormous stone slab, but she’s apparently strong enough to pull _herself_ down. Except he doesn’t let go of her, and when they hit the ground Rey barely manages to turn her body so her shoulder takes the fall and not her chin. 

He lands heavily on top of her, one gloved hand jutting out to stop his fall before he damn near crushes her, and for half a heartbeat they both just stay like that, trapped by mutual surprise at Rey’s truly terrible battle move. 

Then she flips onto her back and tries her best to knee him in the groin, but he uses his own leg to pin hers down, holding her immobile at her wrist and knee.

“Don’t do that,” he scolds. Gods, what is he thinking right now? 

“Really? That’s what you’re gonna say?”

He makes an odd little noise, which _annoys_ her, but before she can try and knee him with her _other_ leg, they hear the sound of the Emperor clapping in polite appreciation for the show. 

“Well,” he says. “How interesting.”

Kylo Ren hauls himself off her, and for a second Rey just lays there, marveling that she’s still alive. Alive and… surprisingly okay, all things considered? The adrenaline has given her a second wind, or maybe it was just that she’d _held a real lightsaber_ in her hand. 

Rey sits up massaging her wrist where he’d pinned her.

“You are strong, my boy,” the Emperor says, as if Rey isn’t even there. 

“It wasn’t a fair fight,” Kylo says tonelessly.

It takes a concentrated effort of will not to scowl at him for the insult. Instead, she gets to her feet and stares down at her boots, which have tracked gravel all over the polished floors. 

“And yet you didn’t press the advantage.”

“Murdering your granddaughter hardly seemed like the best way to start a relationship.”

The Emperor laughs long and low, a throaty baritone that could sound almost pleasant if you ignored the way his eyes light up with malice and the twin fires surge hungrily out of their grates. 

The Emperor advances, and Rey looks up just in time to see him place one hand on Kylo Ren's masked head. 

It is at this point that she hears herself do something very foolish. 

"Grandfather, don’t,” she says, her eyes fixed on that fine, soft hand resting on Kylo Ren’s unsuspecting head. Remembered nausea fills her mouth, and all she can think about is that she has suffered enough in her life, and she will not watch it happen to someone else. Not that. 

Kylo Ren goes still. The Emperor looks straight at her. 

"Kneel, girl."

Rey does so immediately, bowing her head so deeply that all she can see is her own watery reflection in the polished stone floor.

The Emperor's voice slices through her, though he addresses the words to Kylo. 

“Forgive her. She doesn’t understand things. Not like you are beginning to.”

Rey winces, glowering at the ground, but the Emperor just keeps talking, his voice booming and resonant. "You want power. You desire to right the wrongs of the past. And now, mature in your powers, you are ready to serve a master of even greater strength. Kneel and serve me, and I will give you all the power you desire, and more. Everything you want. Everything."

Rey risks a glance at Kylo Ren, wishing desperately that she could see the man underneath the mask. She _hates him._ What would it be like to be offered _everything_? What would Rey give to hear her grandfather make her an offer like that?

The blood of her enemies. Power enough to stop anyone from ever stealing from her again.

On the other hand, she’s afraid for him.

But Kylo’s voice is a throaty, modulated growl. “Everything I want?”

_Run, run, flee, go, take me with you- get out- you are going to die here-_

"Everything,” her grandfather vows. 

Kylo Ren turns his head, and although she can’t see his face, he is looking at her. 

“Then I will serve you for as long as you live,” he says. His voice is so steady, so strong. 

When he looks back at the Emperor she can almost see the conviction in him, the way his whole body seems tensed in preparation of a mighty blow. The way he seems to welcome it. Power radiates off him. It feels like standing in the sun. 

This is bad. Very bad. The only good thing is that her grandfather has not asked him to swear fealty in the Sith tradition; there has been no giving of names, no subjugation of the individual will. There is yet only one Sith on this planet. 

The Emperor told her once that he intended to rule alone. That his apprentices have disappointed him. But how could he deny Kylo Ren? 

"Then rise, Kylo Ren. Rise as my guest and my servant."

Rey glances up, watching him rise. From her position on the ground, he seems an immense figure. A singularity. Large and looming and looking only at the emperor. 

And then, with no warning, the Emperor extends a hand and Kylo Ren’s saber flies from his belt for a second time. She sees Kylo take a step forward as if to protest, but he thinks better of it. Perhaps he is finally learning to be afraid. 

It’s just too damn late. 

* * *

She’s tasked to give him quarters, and Rey agrees without questioning it. She feels very cold. Cold, but not as weak as before, which is pleasant. The fight got her blood going, reminded her just what kind of powers she’s capable of channeling. 

He manages the lift down, and as Rey leads him down into the underground palace, he follows behind her. He barely even glances at the statues, barely looks at the two story atrium. He just follows in her shadow. 

When they cross the War Room, he finally speaks. 

"Did I hurt you?" 

Rey keeps her face carefully neutral. Her only goal for the rest of the night is to give nothing _else_ away. She needs to survive the incredible mundanity of walking this violent, terrifying threat to a bedroom, and then she can go back to her bed, bury her face in a pillow, and scream for ten years. 

"I’m fine."

Why would he even care about the answer to that question? If he’s noticed her weakness, then couldn’t he just do her the courtesy of storing it away someplace behind that god-awful mask so he can use it against her later? You know, like a _normal_ person? 

Their footsteps are muffled as they reach the carpet lined hallway that connects the War Room and the Receiving Hall to the Great Hall. 

"I'm- look, I'm just showing you to your room. We don't need to talk."

He doesn’t reply, just shrugs slightly, and they lapse into silence. She’s doing a very good job pretending this is fine until they reach the staircase leading up to the residential wing. But as they make it to the stairs, she can’t help it.

"Are you practiced in the art of killing masters?"

He glances at her, even though she keeps her attention firmly ahead of her. 

"Just the one," he says cooly, and Rey can’t decide if she’s happy about this or not. 

“Well, don’t try and kill your new one,” Rey says. 

“Are you worried for me or for him?”

“He’s my _grandfather,_ ” Rey snaps. “What do you think?”

“I think you’re afraid of him.”

The scoff of derision that has been building during this entire walk finally cuts loose. 

He glances at her. Why is he _always looking at her?_

She says, “I have a respect for power.”

“Then why don’t you respect me?”

Because he’s going to get them both killed, and, failing that, he’s going to bring about the death of thousands of star systems. But mostly the first bit. 

“I don’t _know_ you,” she mumbles, knowing how surly she sounds but unable to hold it back. 

He is so annoyingly unfazed by her blatant hostility. 

“You’re afraid of me, too,” he murmurs.

At this, she comes to a halt and pulls the slim knife she keeps strapped to her side. Sure, she only points it at the ground, but she takes a step towards him anyway.

She pitches her voice very low, so nobody around them can hear it. 

"Listen to me, Kylo Ren. I am afraid of death, I am afraid of suffering, and frankly I don’t care for needles. But you? You, I can handle.” 

He actually takes a step back, as if she's caught him off guard. It's satisfying for one delicious moment, and then he speaks, gesturing at her knife with his gloved hand. 

"That is an inadequate piece of steel for a princess."

Rey’s growl of frustration is so loud that she actually sees two servants skitter out of sight down the hallway. Turning, she abandons the pretense of a civil walk and downright charges down the rest of the hallway.

He can follow her or not. It makes no difference to her at this point. Let him fall down a trap hallway or be tempted into insanity by a wandering Sith artifact. Let one of the acolytes find him and bind him to a temple mount. Let Severn find him unattended and feast on his living flesh, or whatever it is she _does_ for fun. 

And to think, she'd wondered if he might be some kind of lost Sith apprentice. He's clearly some jumped up ego-maniac flyboy, which makes everything that much worse. He's going to get murdered before she can deal with him.

His strides are long enough that he easily keeps up with her, but he says nothing, evidently satisfied that he has ruined her mood for the evening. When they reach the ironwood doors of his new quarters, Rey comes to a dead halt and points at his rooms. 

“These are your quarters. If you had any luggage, let me be the first to sincerely express my hope that they all burned up on impact.”

He pauses, taking his time looking at the doors. And then, with no warning- 

“Is it the mask that makes you uncomfortable around me?”

With a swish of her cloak she turns on her heel, exasperated and seriously looking forward to surrendering herself to unconsciousness within the next hour. 

She doesn’t answer him, and from his door he calls after her. 

“I could take it off, you know. If it would help.”

There is an almost playful note in his voice that makes something vicious come to her throat. He’s taunting her? After he came here against her warning, lost his lightsaber, and ruined everything all in one night? 

Her voice is a snarl, and she tosses the words over her shoulder without even looking at him. 

“Don’t bother, I already know what kind of man I’d see underneath.”

And then she turns a corner and breaks into an outright run. Odd, though, that for the first time in weeks her legs don’t shake. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ten thousand smooth river stones to my girl [Casey](https://twitter.com/caseydoesfandom) for beta reading this chapter. Lost without you, babe. 
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd appreciate a comment here on Ao3 or a follow [my Twitter accont.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites). I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates, and I also have an upcoming piece of commissioned art for this fic that I'll be posting there!!!


	4. 4

****

_A stunning moodboard made by the incredible[Karolina](https://twitter.com/Kariito_Chii/status/1218248192933928962)!_

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

* * *

It's not overly dramatic to say that Rey throws herself onto her bed in heap when she returns from her disastrous encounter with Kylo Ren.

She doesn't cry, though it might be nice to. For a minute she just lays there, trying to make herself sad enough to do it. She used to cry, when she was a kid, but somehow between the moisture-deprivation of Jakku and the fear driven chaos of the court, she's lost touch with the sensation.

So she doesn't cry, but she does hold very still and feel very sorry for herself, which is a reasonable approximation.

_What is she going to do about this?_

Her original plan had been to get him to stay away, and that had failed spectacularly. Now she has to, what, kill him?

She knows that ultimately, it's the right thing to do. He can't be trusted, he'd proved as much tonight. He'd pinned her down, taken the saber back, had mocked her when they were alone. Clearly, he has no idea what he's walked into, and to make it worse he's obviously strong. Grandfather wouldn't want him as much as he does if he weren't.

Rolling onto her back and staring up at the silver-threads woven into the canopy of her bed, she pulls up a fur blanket and covers herself all the way to the neck. Her coarse workman's outfit seems so odd now. Had it really only been a few hours ago that she'd been repairing a maintenance panel? Unaware it was all about to change.

Unbidden, she sees her grandfather placing a hand on Kylo Ren's helmet in that familiar gesture. All her adult life, she's hated being touched on her face. She barely lets Marth touch her hair, and when she was thirteen she once threatened an Acolyte with a dagger when he'd put his grimy hands on her crown.

Nobody touches her unless she can't physically stop them. 

Kylo Ren had touched her. Granted, she'd been trying to touch him, too. A kick counts as touching.

At least she doesn't feel so terribly sick anymore.

_That is an inadequate piece of steel for a princess._

Her eyes go to her dagger, unceremoniously dumped on the little table next to the fire. If she were smart, she would go over there, pick it up, change into training clothes and poison Kylo Ren in his sleep.

She could do it. 

But stars is she tired. It's frankly incredible she's made it as far as she has at this stage in her recovery. 

Grunting, Rey sits up and reaches for the little datapad she keeps next to her bed. 

Pulling up her health log, she takes a quick read of her vitals with the help of a meditracker and logs them for future reference.

Her heart rate, blood flow, and oxygen count are all pretty decent compared to her averages at this stage of her recovery. That’s good news. If she’s gonna kill him, then at least she won’t be quite as weak as usual. 

She should get up. She should get _up._

And then, with no warning at all, she falls into a restless sleep. 

* * *

When she wakes up the next day she’s disoriented and confused, her brain muddled like she’d had too much wine the night before. Her head aches, but only a little. Marth is sitting on the edge of her bed, a datapad in her hands. 

“My lady,” Marth says, her cheeks flushed. Rey can already hear the girl’s question about to burst forth.

“Marth,” Rey says. “Please leave me.” 

“But-”

“Thank you, my esteemed page, but you are dismissed for the morning.”

“But your _hair,_ ” she protests. 

“Marth,” Rey snaps, reaching for the headache pills in her dresser drawer. Mercifully, Marth has brought her some caf. 

Marth jumps to her feet, clicking her datapad off with a pouty frown on her face. 

“As you say, my lady.”

Rey doesn’t blame the girl for her disappointment. She knows the whole Palace must be ablaze with gossip, and no doubt Marth was counting on having the inside story.

But Rey doesn’t have the heart to indulge the girl’s curiosity when she herself has so few answers.

Where did he come from?

Why is he here?

What does he want?

Is he a threat?

What is she supposed to do, admit to her staff that she has absolutely no idea? No. Nope. What she needs to do is suit up for battle.

She washes her face in cold water and scrubs her hair with more than usual vigor. After she's clean, she applies the most expensive oils she has to her skin, massaging them in so that every part of her seems to gleam. She picks the most expensive, heavy brocade dress in her possession, which is no small feat because they are all expensive and heavy. 

Without Marth she can’t manage anything too complicated, so she can't wear the ridiculous corset number with the ten million pearl buttons. Instead, she chooses a gown with a long, inconvenient train and trim made of thousands of tiny, hand-cut silver stars. 

She foregoes her usual court-cloak, and opts instead for a ridiculous, gauzy confection that drapes in sheer swathes across her exposed shoulders and collar bones, covering her in a shroud-like gauze of fabric. It trails behind her like an inconvenient, listless cloud. 

When she's done, she stares at herself in the mirror and considers the effect. 

She looks imposing. Powerful. Someone nobody should try and mess with. Or stab. 

If she were Kylo Ren, would she try and kill her? 

Frowning, she reaches for some rouge and reddens her lips. Just to be extra sure.

* * *

In the Main Hall, the court is teeming with people gossiping. It’s mid-morning, or at least what passes for morning in a Palace built underground. Bright panels of soft, filtered light are mounted in tall, narrow strips along the walls, sending out a diffused glow into the huge, cavernous rooms. They’re made from compressed energy crystals that sent out steady, simulated daylight. 

They’re beautiful, but they also make you go mad if you stare at them for too long. 

Rey descends the grand staircase with measured calm, her crown perched on her head and her chin high. Below her, courtiers, pages, visiting Senators, generals, visiting soldiers, and Sith acolytes stop in their tracks and _stare_ at her.

Right. So they definitely know.

When Rey reaches the bottom of the stairs, Severn is the first to accost her. She appears out of nowhere at her elbow, usual mixture of dry sarcasm and desperate hunger on her beautiful features.

"Your majesty," Severn says, falling into step as Rey walks through the Main Hall. Around them, the crowds part as if seeing a venomous snake. 

"Severn," Rey says calmly. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?” 

Severn's lips twitch in annoyance, but she doesn't take the bait.

"I suppose you've heard?" Severn says, her voice a low murmur. "The new apprentice-" 

Rey conceals an annoyed sigh. "I'm not going to discuss it with you, and _certainly_ not here."

Behind them, she can feel the odd tugging sensation of Sith acolytes gently touching the train of her gown as it trails behind her, as if in benediction. 

Whispers of " _your majesty_ " and " _princess_ " follow behind her. She tries not to be creeped out, but it's not something that's ever gotten easier. Today seems worse than usual, and Rey knows it’s _his_ fault. The court is worked up, wondering if this new arrival means that it is finally time to reveal themselves to the world. 

The thought gives her a shudder. 

A sharply dressed general appears in front of them, halting their progress. His eyes are gleaming with sharp curiosity. Rey can’t remember his name; they’ve never been introduced, and he’s not on the High Council. 

Which means that what he’s doing is one shade short of an act of war. 

"Your majesty," he says, affecting a very stylish bow. "May I have leave to speak with you?"

"You may not," Rey says coldly, and resumes walking. 

The other man has to nearly dive out of the way to avoid being run over by the Princess of the Final Order, because she does _not_ wait for him to move. Given the chance, she would have happily shoved him out of the way. 

Startled, watches them pass and then falls into step behind them. He has to step carefully to avoid treading on her train. 

“Majesty-”

Rey’s about to whirl around and launch him down the nearest flight of stairs she can find, when Severn beats her to it. 

"You dare to disrespect the Princess? I ought to have you flogged."

The man balks, dropping deeply into a bow. Rey’s not sure who he’s more afraid of. 

Rey ignores his stuttered apology and gives Severn a side-eyed glance. 

They're not friends, but Severn takes her position as Rey's chief antagonist very seriously. Perhaps, as a princess of her own line, Severn feels that they are equals in some strange way. Not in actual status, but at least in royal blood. 

For the first time, it occurs to Rey that she's always felt that way about Severn, too. If they are rivals, it is because they are equals competing for something they both desperately want, something they both feel entitled to. Power. 

Plus, they have a mutual and very satisfying contempt for the court lackeys and acolytes who cling to the edges of their power like a creeping mold. If Severn is brutal, mean, and backstabbing, she is at least strong. Rey can respect that. 

Severn turns back to Rey and falls easily back in step in the familiar brisk trot they had both learned at the Academy. Together, a strange kind of unit, they proceed from the Great Hall into the passageway that connects it with the Receiving Room. 

This particular hallway is lined with a strange, black-leaved vine that clings to every visible surface. It had been an alchemical experiment, an attempt to construct a Force-enhancing plant that could grow without sunlight.

That is not what happened. 

The vine is tenacious and responds to the Force signature of people who pass in the hallway, feeding off their energy and turning and twisting towards the source of their fuel. The mineral-infused leaves glow in response to Force energy, emitting a bone-white glow along the veins of their variegated leaves. The diffused light shimmers oddly as the leaves bend to get as close to Rey as they can. 

Rey's glad the plant isn't currently flowering. The strange, moon-white petals grow quickly and on no schedule anyone's been able to figure out, and without fail they drop on her head as she passes underneath, clinging tenaciously to her hair and clothing.

In the odd moon-glow of the vinelight, they see courtiers skitter out of their way, retreating into shadowy corners or skittering ahead to gossip about her in peace. 

Severn drops her voice very low. "Your majesty, I - I only want to now. Are the rumors true? Is he the Emperor's apprentice? Are there two Sith again?"

Rey tries to interpret the tone of Severn's voice, rifling through it in search of some trace of fear or vulnerability or glee. She finds only a sense of buried urgency. When Severn speaks again, this time Rey hears it. _Fear_. Ringing and silvery. "You saw him. You must be able to-"

She’s about to reply, when someone else speaks. 

"Rey."

It’s a booming, male voice, and Rey fights off the urge to groan out loud. Kylo Ren, dressed in the same outfit from the night before and still wearing that helmet, strides toward them. 

Behind her, the leaves of the vine start creeping towards her, growing their uncanny tendrils with unnatural speed. 

Rey straightens and turns to Severn, finding her reaching out with one hand as if to grip Rey’s hand. It's so unexpected, so out-of-character, that Rey is shocked into answering her honestly. 

"He is no Sith."

It’s barely a whisper, but Severn nods once, evidently satisfied. Raising her voice loud enough that Kylo can hear it, she says, "Then nothing in the Known Realms will make me bow to him."

Her contempt is so obvious that Rey wonders if she'd only imagined the fear in Severn’s voice a moment ago. 

When Kylo Ren reaches them, he glances at Severn, then to Rey. 

"There you are," he says in that same mild, toneless voice. 

"Still alive, I see," Rey says coldly. 

Kylo looks her up and down, and comes to rest at her temples, and she guesses he's looking at the crown. But he doesn't comment, just nods.

Rey dismisses Severn with a flick of her hand that she knows Severn will absolutely loathe and resumes her walk down the hallway. She hears the sound of a dozen silvery little snaps as the vines that have crept onto her gauzy cloak are ripped from the vine. 

She sends a mental apology to Marth, who will have to pry the sharp, shiny things out of the veil tonight. 

Kylo Ren's steps are not quiet as he falls in step beside her. His boots make loud noises that he does nothing to soften.

"Leave me," she snaps at him. Being this near him does an odd thing in her stomach, like a prickling of her conscience, or if she somehow had a migraine in her lower intestine.

"Unfortunately, I'm at your service."

Rey dutifully ignores him, striding down the vine hallway and feeling the hard stares of various courtiers drinking in the sight of them. Keeping her lips pressed tight to make it as hard as possible for those lip-reading snakes to guess their conversation, she mutters, "Be of service to me by going literally anywhere else."

He doesn’t rise to the taunt. "You won't get rid of me that way, Princess. I have a lot to say to you.”

God, she has a thing or two to say to him, too.

How dare you approach me in a shadowy hallway? How dare you come before me in that helmet again? What are you _doing_ here and how can I help you get it so you can leave? 

"So say it."

He doesn't hesitate. "Do you always dress like that?"

Rey glances at her long gown, her fine gloves, her best cloak, and frowns. There’s nothing wrong with it. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You’re dressed for a Senate ball, not for battle,” he says, almost conversationally. Like this isn’t the first time someone has critiqued her outfit to her face without being jailed. 

And then Rey wonders how he knows what a Senate ball looks like, anyway.

“I represent my grandfather in the eyes of the court. My appearance reflects his power and influence.”

“And potency.”

Rey sputters out a shocked, incoherent noise that her masters at the academy would have slapped her for. Overhead, the vines are glowing so white and bright that the hallway almost feels like they’re in real daylight.

“Don’t you lecture me on … _decency_. You’re wearing a mask.”

“It’s not a mask,” he says in that same mild, infuriating tone. “It’s a helmet.”

Rey studiously doesn't roll her eyes. "We breathe our own atmosphere down here. I don't know how they do it where _you_ come from-"

"I've been on a dreadnought class destroyer for most of the past ten years, if you want to know.” 

Rey narrows her eyes, the mention of destroyers sending her anxiety up a notch. 

"Oh? I wonder you could be spared. You -" and then she realizes that she's actually making conversation with him, which is exactly what he wants, the _snake,_ and stops herself before she does something truly stupid. Like asking him what it feels like to travel at hyper speed. Or what it feels like to stand in space. Or if he's ever seen a waterfall.

Rey clenches her fists and trying to quell the agitation of her heart, which beats in her chest like a caged bird. 

Rey resumes walking down the hallway, head ringing. He follows her, just a step behind, a living shadow. When they pass out of the hallway, they're alone again. No one ever managed to kill the vine, but a clever engineer had sprayed the hallway’s edge with a plant repulsive mineral to at least contain the spread. 

"When will we train?"

His voice is casual again. 

Of course he'd ask her about training; it's probably what he spent much of his time doing. And it shows. He's strong. Not strong in the way that she is, but _physically_ strong. He could kick a door down or punch someone in the jaw or- 

Well, lots of things. 

"Why don't you tell me more about yourself before we get to that," she demurs. “Unless you had something better to do. Like launching yourself into a black hole-”

"Okay, look,” he says, and for the first time she hears a genuine note of annoyance in his voice. “Stop moving for one minute.”

He pulls on her arm and she yanks it back. He’s not allowed to touch her. He must not touch her.

"What?" she snarls. 

He holds up his hands as if in surrender. "You're always _walking_ away from me- I need to speak with you. Someplace private."

She tosses her head. "There is nowhere private here. The whole palace is an extension of the Emperor's might. If he wishes to listen to us, he may."

"Now that," he says, crossing his arms, "I don't believe."

" _Excuse me_?"

"You came here when you were eleven, right?"

She is sure she never told him that. 

"Who have you been talking to?" she growls, taking a step towards him. 

"Other people,” he says coolly. “Since you weren’t interested in talking, I had to ask someone else."

Oh, this is much worse. 

"Would you take the stupid mask off," she snaps, wishing she could just see his damn expression.

"No," he says flatly, and then continues. "You’re trying to tell me that an eleven year old scavenger from Jakku didn’t have a hiding place? I think you’re lying.” 

Rey bristles, the hair on the back of her neck standing up, and it must show on his face, because she hears him blow out an amused breath of air. 

"There it is," he says, his tone just a little smug. She's getting better at reading him. "You want know the real reason I wear a mask?”

“To protect your skull from all the people who want to smash it?” 

He tilts his head down towards her and drops his voice low. “Because most people are truly terrible at hiding their feelings. So, tell me, where is it?"

Before she can snarl at him, someone else interrupts them.

Instantly they both turn, equally bristling. Maybe he’s as eager for a fight as she feels. 

"Moff Vellian," Rey says, deflating instantly. Stepping out from behind the bulk of Kylo's body, she manages a smile. 

Vellian's voice is a warm rumble, as ever. "Good afternoon, Princess. You're just the person I was looking for."

Anders Vellian has salt-and-pepper hair pushed back at the temples, and his pale blue eyes are curious as he approaches. His uniform is immaculate, cutting a fine figure across his broad shoulders. He's maybe 40, and the youngest member of the High Council. 

Trying to relax her defensive posture and project calm, Rey nods her head in polite acknowledgement of the greeting. She makes no move to introduce Kylo Ren, who stands impassively at her side. 

When Vellian reaches them, he smiles again. "Ah, and you must be the new blood. Kylo Ren, is it?" 

Kylo nods, but says nothing. 

Vellian seems to expect no reply. "How interesting. First Order, wasn’t it? Must be a challenge to rule from this far away."

Kylo again says nothing, and when the silence becomes uncomfortable, Rey does doesn’t fill it. 

It's not that she wants Vellian to suffer. In point of fact, he's been nothing but decent to her. He has neither tried to cut her down nor flatter her in search of favor with her grandfather. His military strategy, from what little she has overheard, has been sound and well-reasoned. He speaks like a man with far more experience than his years would suggest, and there's something faintly old-fashioned about him. He reminds her a little of the Knights of the Old Republic she'd told herself stories about as a child. 

He frequently sends her data pads stocked with interesting reading material that he brings back from his travels. He's also never once tried to have her murdered, which more than she can say of some of the members of the Council. 

And yet, watching Kylo Ren flout court custom, making one of the most senior people in the Palace stand in expectant silence like a kitchen maid, gives her an odd little thrill.

But she has to say something. Court custom dictates that it’s her responsibility to speak. Gesturing at Kylo, she smiles at Vellian and murmurs, "I’m afraid our new friend has been somewhat sparse in the region of personal details."

Vellian raises a brow, but doesn't seem offended.

"How droll. Well, I do hope you'll break your silence. I'm told you've been given a seat on the High Council. A great honor."

Kylo dips his head in acknowledgement, and Rey makes sure her face stays as serene and placid as a sea of sand. Which is to say that she conceals her grimace very poorly. Kylo might be right about the mask thing. 

Vellian turns the full wattage of his intense gaze on her.

"Princess, you don't look well," he says, dropping his voice. Kylo turns his head sharply to look at her, and even though she can't see his eyes, she feels his gaze on her. 

_Does he know what happens to her? Has he heard rumors yet?_

Rey smiles. "I'm afraid I was up late last night."

"Reading again?" Vellian says. They're back on familiar territory now.

Rey indulges in an eye roll. "Spare me the lecture, Anders."

"I will, but only on the condition that you attend my upcoming name day fête."

Rey tilts her head. "I don't recall receiving an invitation."

Vellian's smile goes wolfish. "Ah, you did, but your vixen of a page informed me that you were indisposed and needed rest this week. I figured you hadn't been consulted."

Rey clenches her teeth together. "Ah. Marth. I apologize."

Vellian shrugs it off. "You're lucky to have a staff so devoted to you. I can't get my staff to so much as sit up straight when I walk by. I'll have my man drop the invitation off at your door." Vellian turns his gaze to Kylo. "You are welcome as well, my young friend." 

Knowing damn well that Kylo won't say a thing, Rey murmurs, "You can count on my attendance."

Vellian grins. " _Good._ It's formal dress, hosted in my chambers aboard the Dauntless. I’ll have them make those Jogan fruit tarts you like- the red ones. Expect one of my people at your door to escort you around eight bells."

To her surprise, Kylo _finally_ speaks. "I'll escort her."

Vellian blinks. "You'll need a craft to board the Dauntless. She's sub-atmo at the moment, but-"

"I'll get a ship." 

Rey stares. Get a ship? Does he truly not understand anything? They don’t just _get_ a ship. 

"Aren't you tired, after your long journey?" Rey says pointedly. 

"No." 

She can't exactly correct him without revealing her dislike of him, so she just smiles and says, "Suit yourself."

Vellian claps his hands together, and the sound booms uncomfortably in the hallway.

"Well," he says briskly. "This has been most satisfactory. Pleasure to meet you, Kylo. And princess? _Do_ get some rest."

He gives her a fond smile, and then he's off.

Rey turns to Kylo, ready to pick up their argument up where they left off. Namely, telling him off for assuming he knows anything about what it had felt like to be an eleven year old scavenger from Jakku, when he speaks before she can. 

"A birthday party?"

His contempt is evident even through the modulator and Rey sighs. 

"Don't start."

"Listen, when I heard there was a Sith court on a planet in the Outer Rims you'll forgive me if I wasn't expecting a- what did he call it- a _fête_?"

"So don't attend," she grumbles. "Anyway, I was busy ignoring you."

"If you don't train, and you don't sit in on the high council, then what do you do all day aside from standing there looking pretty?"

Rey stops in her tracks, turning to glare at him. How dare he mock her?

But of course, there's no face to read, no eyes to meet. 

"I'm going to turn around and walk away, and if you follow me, I'll send a herd of Sithbeasts on you."

* * *

An hour later and she's deep in study in the Archives, pouring over a volume of ancient Jedi texts. It's silly that they even have these- they're of no use to her. But somehow, when she's upset, she always comes back to them.

Soothing tales of strong people who fought against tyranny and won. Or lost, and died horribly. Either way, it’s interesting reading. 

When she is despondent, she turns to the Sith texts. Ancient tales of cynical wisdom, brutal victories demonstrating the power of strength, the way you can turn your pain into power, how everything in the galaxy is a zero-sum game where power is the only currency. 

The Jedi texts remind her to be strong. The Sith texts remind her to be smart. 

But maybe it's not the words that comfort her as much as the Archives themselves. It's a rabbit warren of tiny, honeycomb rooms that spread out like a cell replicating itself, each individual closet lined to the ceiling with books. 

There's an order to it, but it exists only in the mind of the ancient Togruta librarian who works to organize it. 

Rey flips the page, reading a dry tale of a Jedi in a scrape on a planet she's never even heard of. It's a good story, even though nobody dies. 

Her grandfather had told her once that the Jedi council fell prey to the same fate as all the other councils of the world: utter complacency. They had been blinded by success into years of tolerance. Success can do as much harm as defeat, he'd said. Sometimes, the victory can only be truly one in the field of toil and suffering.

Absently, she flips a page and wonders how many councils Kylo Ren must sit on. What's that like? Did they give him a commlink? She could just ask him. Annoyed at herself for not thinking of this earlier, she closes the Jedi text as gently as she can and slides it back into its protective sheathing. 

Rey has her own table in the Archives, and she doesn't bother to re-shelf the volume she'd been perusing. The droids know to leave it for her.

Pulling out her commlink, she searches for his name in the directory.

It pops up, bland and unremarkable as any other administrative task. 

Kylo Ren.

Huh. Of course he's in the databank. Someone must have gotten him registered. The Final Order's chief instrument of terror should really be classes as "terrifyingly efficient bureaucracy."

She amuses herself imagining what would happen if she just... sent him a commlink the way she might message Marth or... okay, there's nobody else she would really message out of the blue. But still. It's entertaining to imagine.

_Hello, you tall, creepy visitor who feels like someone I’ve known for years and who I also loathe. You should leave immediately because I think you’re going to get us both killed._

She snorts. What would he say to that? 

Packing up her things and straightening her desk, she rises to her feet, thinking that she should probably go and meditate. Try and center herself. 

And then she feels it. It’s a wordless, nameless beckoning. It fills her whole body, icy as the sea, as sharp as gravel. It is not a request.

_Come to me._

When he speaks like this, he is never "grandfather." When he commands her to rise, to obey him, to yield, he is always, always, always her Emperor.

Fear floods her body. Gods, if Kylo Ren has blown this for her already, she’s going to gut him like a _fish._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd appreciate a comment here on Ao3 or a follow [my Twitter account.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites). I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates, and I also have an upcoming piece of commissioned art for this fic that I'll be posting there!!!


	5. 5

* * *

**CHAPTER 5**

* * *

When Rey makes it to the War Room, she's out of breath from jogging, her heart in her throat and her hand reflexively thumbing the reassuring weight of the dagger strapped to her hip. She takes a minute to adjust her gown, which is still immaculate, thank stars, and catches her breath before she pushes open the heavy double doors of the War Room and strides in with her head held high. 

The War Room has been fitted out for a meal, the braziers on the edges of the room have been dimmed to give the space a sense of intimacy. A space this large needs an immense amount of darkness to feel intimate, but the Final Order does not lack for darkness. 

The Emperor is seated at the head of the table, and at his right hand- _and Rey has to swallow down a fit of anger_ \- sits Kylo Ren, masked and unmoving. Rey stands up very straight, waiting to be invited in or dismissed.

"Ah, granddaughter," the Emperor says, letting the hood of his cloak fall back to expose his eyes. "We were just speaking of you. Kylo Ren here believes that you ought to be permitted train with him."

Rey's breath catches. "Train, sir?" 

"In lightsaber combat." 

Rey fights to keep her voice even. "And what are your wishes, grandfather?"

His lips twitch. She's pleased him.

"We will dine," he says, gesturing at the seat to his left, directly opposite Kylo Ren. She seats herself, the three of them forming an odd little trio clustered around the very end of the massive table. Rey tugs her skirts in close, arranging them neatly so that if she needs to leap to her feet, she won't trip.

In front of her, a human servant appears, laying down a plate of food. The kitchens on Exegol aren't fancy, she's heard enough senators complain about it to know that much, but it's not bad, either. The trouble is that her grandfather sustains himself very little on actual food, and is said to be unable to actually taste anything he eats. Watching him eat reminds Rey of seeing droids effect human expressions of shock or grief, while knowing deep down that they feel nothing.

The meal is a pale orange soup with bread, and it smells good. Her appetite has returned, and the liquor served in a little crystal goblet is an appetizing pale green color. It's all very mundane, which is why it's so deeply unsettling.

The Emperor lifts his glass, letting the liquid glow in the pale firelight. “Peace is a lie.”

“There is only passion,” Rey murmurs. 

Kylo looks at her, but Rey waits to lift her spoon until she sees her grandfather eat. They rarely share meals, which is good because watching him eat is always a little unsettling. He takes tiny, shivering bites. It makes him look old. Kylo doesn’t touch his food, which is infuriating because she’d been hoping she could see him without his helmet at a meal. 

“Do you know why that is our customary greeting?” 

Rey swallows her bite. “The Sith code, grandfather.”

He makes no indication that he's even heard her. 

“My own master was obsessed with the Code. He studied it with a truly religious zeal. A particular passage tormented him; it was from the Jedi code, do you know it?”

Kylo Ren’s modulated voice is a low, rumble. “ _There is no death, there is the Force,_ ” he quotes. 

The Emperor grins, dipping his head in an expression of fond pleasure that makes Rey burn with envy. “Precisely. The fool was interested in the preservation of life. He could even create it.” At this, he turns to Rey and smiles. “I did not share his passion. Your father, however, was _my_ creation.”

Rey takes a deep breath and grips the knife under her clothes, just for comfort. He’s looking for a reaction, so she doesn’t give him one. Just bites down on her tongue as hard as she can. At the edges of the room, she sees the shivering darkness, held back by the braziers, draw in a little closer. 

"You used Sith principles, then," Kylo Ren interjects. “When you created Snoke.”

It is her grandfather's practice to answer a direct question indirectly.

Palpatine takes another minuscule bite. “Quite an interesting exercise. A fruitful one.”

“Why?”

It's hard to say what Kylo's tone conveys, exactly. 

“Would you have turned to the dark side if I'd appeared before you? With my legacy, it would have been too-heavy handed, too direct. You would have shattered before I could have been of use to you, and you to me." Setting his spoon down, the Emperor turns his gaze to Rey, but his eyes are unfocused and misty, as if lost to thought. "I had thought, once, that she would be the one to find you. I thought she would be the key to bringing you to our cause. But it was not so." 

He says this casually, as if it’s something Rey should have known. As if it was obvious. The awareness of her sudden uselessness makes her feel very cold. 

The Emperor resumes his train of thought, still staring off. He seems to be in a talking mood. “Do you know, I tend to disagree with Darth Bane on the topic of the Rule of Two. You've heard of it, of course.”

He doesn't appear to expect a reply, but she answers anyway.

“There can only be two Sith. One to embody power, and the other to covet it.”

“I gave the principle a fair shake. I truly tried. And yet, all my apprentices were disappointments. I fear in this political climate it is necessary to reject philosophy in favor of more pragmatic ideals.” He pauses her and takes a delicate sip of soup, the silence hanging between the three of them like something brittle and dead.

When he sets his spoon down, he delicately dabs his mouth with a napkin. “Take, for example, the idea of a crown and a scepter. Adjacent to the ruler, but not the ruler. Symbols. Instruments.”

Kylo turns to look at Rey, and she wonders if he is also suddenly conscious of the crown on her head. The emperor follows Kylo’s gaze and adds, “Perhaps a crown and scepter is too antiquated. It is, perhaps, more like a cup and a knife. One to fuel, and one to cut.”

The roaring reaches her head. It's the first time he's ever deigned to explain any part of his thinking to her. She was always his "dear child," his trophy, his terrible, awful cup. She assumed, as everyone else did, that carrying his power in her body meant that one day when she finally killed him, she would resume his mantle.

Her imagination had stopped there, run out of horrors to spin into the idea of a life. 

"That makes us your tools.”

For the first time, she perceives disdain in Kylo's voice. “

Rey wants to hurl _her_ cup at his helmeted head, not because he did anything, but because at least he wouldn’t hurt her for it.

“A tidy metaphor,” says the Emperor, lifting another bite to his papery lips. 

“And Snoke was your knife,” Kylo murmurs. "And I killed him." 

Palpatine sets down his spoon with a little huff. “No, my boy, _you_ are the knife."

It’s impossible to read Kylo's masked face, but for the first time Rey makes a conscious effort to reach out to him. Using the Force around her grandfather is dangerous, but she is desperately, desperately curious to see if she can read anything off this man in front of her.

But there’s nothing, just a dim awareness of him in front of her. He’s as blank as the mask. 

“If I am the knife,” Kylo says slowly. “Then let me train her.”

Palpatine laughs. “What use have I for a weaponized cup?” 

Deep in her body, a bell begins to ring. Something old and ancient and thunderous. A cup? Shallow and finite and utilitarian? A tool? She knew he saw her like this, but on some level, maybe she’d hoped it was different. 

Rey heard stories about the original Sith purebloods, fierce, brutal people who mixed with the original dark Jedi to found the Sith civilization. They took what they could and killed everything that didn’t serve them. 

“I tire of metaphors,” Rey says coldly. 

“Then, dear child, perhaps you are overflowing,” Palpatine says steadily, locking eyes with her.

Rey’s heart is hammering. He won’t do _that_ to her in front of Kylo, will he? He can’t do that to her in front of Kylo Ren. The shame of it would kill her. Rey grips her knife under the table, her arms trembling.

If he tries that here, she will fight him. She won’t bend at the knees, won’t cower, won’t let her nausea rob her of her fight. The Emperor looks her in the eyes, and she can feel something awful radiating off him. 

He runs a finger around the edge of his glass, and the room is slowly filling with the maddening sound of his cup’s ringing cries. 

_Peace is a lie._

A metallic click and a pneumatic hiss interrupts the awful moment, and the ringing stops, _everything_ stops as Kylo Ren lifts his helmet off his head. 

His face is pale. His eyes are brown. He has freckles _._

Rey stares and stares and stares, her grip slackening, her eyes wide. 

He has a soft mouth and a strong jaw. He meets her gaze and it feels like… it feels like being poured _into_. Something liquid and intense filling her up. In her chest, something rings with a terrible, true recognition. The face of the other one. The one like her. 

All at once, she understands why he kept the mask on this long. Rey feels just looking at him that she could get her claws into the heart of him, could dig into the soft flesh and hold onto something vital and beating there. Whatever he is made of, Rey wants to sink her teeth into it. 

They hold that moment for half a heartbeat, and it is thick and dense as fog, as sharp as lightning, and then he looks away. He’s still wearing his gloves, and without saying anything he takes a bite of his dinner. It’s the first thing she’s seen him eat. 

Her grandfather says, “Finally dispensed with that ridiculous thing, have you?”

Kylo’s unmodulated voice is deep and unexpectedly soft. 

“The soup looked good.”

* * *

The rest of the evening is a blur. 

Rey receives orders to give Kylo a tour of the palace before his tour of duty on behalf of the emperor begins. Where the Emperor intends to send Kylo, he won’t say. 

But as her grandfather briefs them on a handful of upcoming social functions, alludes vaguely to the construction of the Sith fleet in the outer reaches, and orders Rey to see that Kylo receives “clothes befitting his station,” Rey finally feels like she understands her grandfather’s plan. 

Maybe for the first time, she sees her situation clearly.

She is a cup. Kylo is a knife. And her grandfather intends that his tools represent him grandly in their appointed positions. 

When they’re finally dismissed, she tries her best to lose Kylo.

He puts the helmet back on, which makes it easier. It’s far easier to justify ducking into a secret passageway when she doesn’t have to imagine his soft brown eyes scanning the hallway looking for her. Wondering where she went. 

When she emerges on the other end of the passage way, she emerges from the pitch black tunnel and into the relative glare of the Main Hall, whose dimly illuminated statues glower down at her as she tries to sneak between them unnoticed. 

“There you are,” he says, his voice gruff. He’s advancing towards her, masked and rigid, and even though he doesn’t lay a hand on her, the sheer momentum of him backs her into the base of the nearest statue.

The statue is two stories tall at least, a severe figure of a dead Sith whose name escapes her as Kylo Ren backs her into his funerary statue.

His voice is gruff, even angry. “I found you in the furthest depths of the Outer Rim, found you when I didn’t know your damn name, when _all I had was a vague sense of you_ in the Force, and you think you can hide from me in one lousy castle?”

He’s right there, right in front of her, and Rey’s back is pressed flat against the cool stone. She glowers up at him, shaken and uneasy and hungry for something. 

His voice is flat and unamused. “Stop running from me, or I’ll make you sit still.”

“Lose the mask,” Rey snaps. 

“It is,” he says, each syllable clipped and precise, “A _helmet_.”

“Worried you need to protect your head from me?” 

“Yes,” he says, exasperated. “I know you want to kill me.”

“So why don’t we have it out?” Rey snarls, itching for a fight. “Right here.”

“Because I’d win, and I didn’t come here for that.”

“Everyone comes here for power. You have no idea whose side you just joined. None. You… you _fool._ ” She’s so angry at him that she could spit. “What kind of plan was it? Crash land on a planet with no escape? No strategy? No intel? You run the First Order, didn’t _anyone_ there brief you?” 

“I am going to take off my helmet,” he says, very slow and controlled, “Don’t attack me.”

Rey considers. Then nods.

The helmet comes loose, and then she’s looking up into his face. Up close, he looks haggard. The firelight had flattered him, but the dim luminescence of the hall only highlights the damage.

He’s got a nasty scar on his temple, his hair needs a cut, his eyes are faintly bloodshot.

“You look awful,” she says.

His lips twitch, and then he puts the mask into her hands. It’s heavier than she expected, dented and scarred under her fingertips. Holding it makes her feel a little better, like she has a tiny, obnoxious shield to protect herself.

“I’m keeping this helmet,” she says flatly.

“It won’t suit you,” he says, gesturing up at the crown. “You’re too fine for it.”

Rey grimaces, shifting the mask to her hip so she can have one hand free. Kylo runs a hand through his hair, shaking it out. “And to answer your question, no, my government didn’t brief me. We didn’t know about this place. I only found it when I found you.”

“Oh,” Rey whispers, comprehension dawning. “I led you here. You didn’t know any of this.”

Rey turns her back on him, which is stupid from a tactical standpoint but necessary from every other one. He can’t see her face right now, can’t see how sick with nerves she is. How guilty she feels. 

Marth’s sweet face pops into her mind’s eye. She has to kill him. _She has to._ It’s awful, and she doesn’t want to, but it’s her fault he came here, her fault the Emperor suddenly has the last thing he needs to fulfill his plan. 

The great fleet. The final work. Rey thought that _she_ was what he needed, that he would take from her until he was strong enough to rule and command the fleet, but it makes sense now.

The Emperor couldn’t complete the fleet without the two of them. 

“Rey?”

“Sorry,” Rey says, trying to compose herself. “I just- today has been a lot.” When it comes to lying, it’s always better to tell a lie that is also the truth. Makes it more believable. “My grandfather… he upsets me sometimes. What he says about my father. It…”

Rey swallows hard and grips the helmet with two hands. 

Kylo is looking at her with something in his eyes she can’t read. 

“Family is complicated. My father is Han Solo."

Rey blinks. "The smuggler?"

She knows Han Solo, has heard stories of his exploits as early as she can remember. He's a hero. 

"I killed him."

The helmet in her hands feels a little heavier, but Rey just switches it to her hip again.

"Did you have to do it?" 

He looks at her, gaze intense and unfathomable. "I felt that it was necessary, at the time."

"Then you should accept it, and let it go. It will only hurt you if you cling to it."

He looks at her oddly, and then his expression shifts. “That metaphor the Emperor used; what did he _mean_ , about you being a cup?” 

She wasn't prepared for that one, and no easy lie presents itself, no trick, no sidestep. But she'll be damned if she submits to the degradation she suffers at her grandfather’s hands. If she’s going to kill Kylo Ren, then she’s at least going to spare herself the agony of his _pity_. If he’s capable of pity, that is. 

He must sense her weakness. 

"Rey, what did he mean?"

Rey takes a step back, and he seems to understand immediately what’s happening. 

“Don’t,” he barks. “Rey, I swear, if you _run_ -”

She runs. 

He might be good at tracking, but no matter what he says, she’ll always be able to outrun him.

* * *

She takes two secret passageways, doubles back on her trail, and stops into her bedroom before she feels safe. In her own rooms, she locks the door and changes her comm password just in case. 

Then, uneasy and afraid, she pulls down her braid and lets her hair loose around her neck. Brushing her hair out, she glances down at her datapad and really sees it for the first time. There are a few messages waiting for her.

One from the Archivist. 

> _Majesty._
> 
> _I have located the information you asked for._
> 
> _Please visit me in the Archives at your earliest convenience._
> 
> _Respectfully,_
> 
> _-A.D._

Rey’s eyebrows shoot up. She’d comm’d him yesterday seeking any information he had about the First Order, and he’d replied that there was nothing immediately available in the archive or the internal database, but that he would send for some information.

His prompt reply makes her wonder if he perhaps found the volumes hidden somewhere else in the Palace. However he found it, the information will be welcome. She needs all the help she can get. 

There’s a message from Anders Vellian, brisk and friendly as ever.

> _Majesty,_
> 
> _I hope this message finds you well. Frankly, I hope it finds you at all, given how the last one was sent to an untimely death in your page's commlink. Below is the invitation message to my party. A formality at this point, but I do love formality._
> 
> _In that vein, please sleep well, hail to the Emperor, glory to the Final Order, and so on, and so forth._
> 
> _Yours,_
> 
> _Anders Vellian_

Rey snorts, and forwards the message to Marth with a stern note that yes, _Marth_ , she _will_ be attending and that she’ll need to be fitted for a new gown sometime this week. Lennix will have her head for the short notice, but it’s not Rey’s fault they have to find something suitable.

And then, there at the top, a new message appears with no greeting or sign off, just the blunt commlink ID of Kylo Ren at the header. 

> _That was the last time I will allow you to run from me_ _._

Rey considers the merits of hurling her datapad across the room, but decides against it only when she thinks of the dressing down she’ll get from Marth for it. 

* * *

When she slips down the hallway to Kylo Ren's room much, much later, she doesn't entirely have a plan. 

There's the knowledge sitting in her chest that she has to kill him. She must kill him, because if she doesn't, she'll end up dead and so will untold millions of others.

If the Emperor needs Kylo Ren, if he is the knife that her grandfather needs to finish his mission, then he cannot be allowed to survive. He refuses to run, and she has no way to evacuate him herself.

So, the grisly work falls to her.

But as she unlatches the door, the hinges smooth and well oiled and silent, Rey hesitates. Part of the problem is that she's hardly dressed for this. Slipping into her nightgown had seemed sensible in her bedroom; if anyone saw her they would assume she was sneaking off to an illicit tryst. If they'd tried to use that against her, she could have worked with it. 

But now, standing outside his open door in a blue silk nightgown trimmed with fragile lace flowers, the disguise feels remarkably less like a good idea. She's barefoot, and her hair is loose around her shoulders. That ruse would fool any courtier stupid enough to be trailing her, but she's not exactly sure she wants to imagine what Kylo Ren will make of it.

At her hip rests the little Sith amulet she often uses. It casts as soft, cool blue light only visible to her. It means she can sneak into his room, and if she's quiet, see around her without him being able to see her. 

Taking a deep breath, she slips inside the cool dark silence of his room and shuts the door.

His bed is tall, designed in the Naboo style with long draping curtains and an elaborate metal trellis sweeping over it. Of course, there's nothing personal in his room to find, so she pads across the plush carpet underfoot, welcoming the relief from the icy stone of the corridor.

When she's close enough to the bed that the dim, odd light from her amulet reaches his face, her heart is beating so fast that it feels like it's trying to climb out her throat. Asleep, he looks like any other man, breathing softly, eyes closed. She drinks in the sight of him, curious in spite of herself. She's been alone with so few men in her life, and never with an _unconscious_ man. Not like this, anyway. He sleeps without a shirt on, and the swell of his chest looks unexpectedly smooth. 

Rey pads up to the side of him, reaching for the knife strapped against her thigh. She looses it from the silk garter, letting the cool, slim metal warm against her palm. 

Even as she unsheathes it, she can't stop looking at his mouth. The way it is pink and living. The way his parted lips move slightly with every exhale. 

His neck is unprotected, the slim vein of his jugular exposed. It would take one cut. And then probably a fight for her life, but still. How odd to think that really, it all comes down to blood. A knife, and a little cut. 

Two more steps and she's at his bedside, and she crouches down in the safety of her personal light, looking at him, watching him. Without meaning to, she synchronizes her breathing to his, his deep inhales calming her down, slowing her racing heart.

There is only the deep black, the cool stone, the soft fabric, and the steady in and out of his breath as she stands over him, wishing she could slip into the gap of this moment and never come out.

Rey leans over him, letting the knife hover near his throat. Her hands shake a little.

This is awful. Doing this would be the worst thing. There would be no coming back from this.

If she's lied, if she's stolen, if she's hurt before, it was never against an unsuspecting opponent asleep in his bed. And somewhere, she has a sense that to kill him would wound her, too, in some new and unspeakable way. Can she survive another wound like that? 

Clenching the knife, she looks again at his face. At the untroubled line of his brow and the freckles spangling his brow, and wonders if he has a mother who loves him. 

She would miss him. 

Then his eyes snap open, bright and alert and not sleepy at all, and Rey remembers all over again that feeling safe is only ever a prelude to letting your guard down. But by that point, he's already got her wrist in his hand, and it's too damn late for regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> Check out this AMAZING [Dark Rey that Maine Witch made!!](https://twitter.com/maine_witch/status/1221282718081855489?s=21) I'm obsessed??? Thank you so much, it's so stunning!
> 
> Also if you want to see an illustration of Rey holding Kylo's helmet and feeling guilty, [Finches on Twitter drew it and /a> I'm in love. Thank you so much!!!! If you'd like to support my writing, I'd appreciate a comment here on Ao3 or a follow ](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1222693812943966213)[my Twitter account.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates, and I also have an upcoming piece of commissioned art for this fic that I'll be posting there!!!


	6. 6

He grabs her wrist and yanks her down, breath coming hard as he catches her by the shoulder and rolls her over him until she's pinned onto her back. Above her, his body is a warm cage and his face thrown into harsh contrast.

"Alright," he says, his voice low and not at all gentle. "I've been nice. I've tried to win you over with words, but I'm starting to think that's not really a language you understand."

"Were you awake the whole time?" She snaps.

"You've clouded my every thought for damn near a month, and you think I can't pick up on you when you're standing six inches from my face? Also, you brought a lantern with you, and I don't sleep well, so, yeah. I noticed you."

Rey blinks. He's not supposed to be able to perceive the light from her lantern. If he can see the light, the device is broken or something very strange is happening. 

She brings a knee up, but he pins it down with his other leg and snarls. "Yeah, you tried that last time we ended up like this, but guess what, princess? I learn quick."

"I hate you," she says, her shock mixing with her anger as she admits to herself that he has her trapped. 

His answering glare reminds her of a portrait of a particularly murderous Sith master hanging in the Main Hall.

"You hate me, huh? Is that why you couldn’t do anything but stand there with that knife at my throat? That why you can’t bring yourself to actually kill me?"

She struggles, pinned at the wrists and filled with hot rage.

“Don’t insult me.”

“Insult you?” he snarls. “That was a com-”

“You mock my weakness!”

“You,” he says, “Are a _very confusing person_.”

"I don’t understand what you want,” she says, feeling helpless and infuriated and hot all over. “Why don’t you just kill me? Why won't you leave?”

When he speaks, his voice is low and quiet.

“Because I need you, and you called me here."

Rey goes still, her eyes widening as she takes in the flush on his cheeks, the intensity of his stare.She'd thought of him as someone infuriatingly still, composed and collected at the expense of his humanity. But oh, she'd been wrong. Above her, pinning her down, he reminds her of an exploding star, held in place only by the strength of his own detonation. There is as much fire in him as there is in her.

His voice is gruff. "So, if you wouldn't mind, please don't try and murder me in my sleep."

Why is it that expressing her own vulnerability feels like pulling teeth, but accepting his feels like drinking cool water on a hot day? Vulnerability is a kind of weakness. But something about his honesty loosens her tongue and makes her own weakness spill out.

"I can't kill you," she admits, her throat tight. "I couldn't do it."

"Of course you couldn't," he says. "Same reason I can't kill you. We need each other. Work with me. Help me. Join me."

Her breath is still coming hard, but her panic has abated. She's no longer struggling, just staring up at him.

“Help you do what, exactly?”

His voice drops to a low whisper and he dips his head closer to her face. Her chest constricts and her hands go tingly.

“I want power,” he whispers. “Real, tangible power.”

It feels electric. It feels dangerous.

“You have power,” she says, lifting her head up as much as she can. “You have _so_ much power. And you don't need me, I'm..."

She tries to tell him, tries to admit the horrible truth of it, but the words stick in her throat. She's spent so long- her whole life- trying to hide the fact that deep down, she's never been strong enough. She's fooled the court, fooled the citizens of Jakku, and sometimes she even fools herself.

But here, pinned as easily as a dead bird beneath the massive, shuddering strength of Kylo Ren, she can no longer ignore it.

His voice is that same rough growl. "All I need from you is the truth. I have no idea what's going on here. I thought- I thought when I came here- I was just looking for _you_."

Rey interrupts. "Let me up."

"What?"

"If we're going to have this conversation, then I want to be sitting up."

"No."

"You said we should work together," she points out.

"Yeah, and you conspicuously did not agree to do that."

"What’s your plan? Pin me here until I relent?" She meant it to sound mocking, but it comes out a little too breathy. An uncomfortable awareness kicks up in the back of her brain. A dim sense that his bed is soft, that the weight of his body might feel... not bad, in a different setting.

He looks like he might be thinking the same thing, because his expression darkens. "Wouldn't be the worst idea I've ever had." Was this part of his plan? To tempt her? 

She tries to knee him in the chest again and he just pins her other leg down. He has her pinned at three corners now. She finally manages a little contempt.

"Did you really have no plan?" She breathes, desperate to re-route her thoughts.

Something about him arriving here with no goal other than to find her seems horribly unlikely. He doesn’t strike her as impulsive or cause motivated. A power hungry darksider, yes, but a madman with a death wish and a lightsaber? No.

"That," he says, "Is the kind of thing I only tell my friends."

"I don't have friends."

"I want you for mine."

Her breath catches.

Rey isn't stupid. She understands, on a mechanical level, how men work. She's seen a man before. But it was always in an academic sense. Like science, or a metaphor, or a diagram. In and out. Chemicals and cells.

This doesn’t feel like that. This feels like… like…

She doesn’t have a word for this, but Kylo Ren looks like he could give her a whole new vocabulary.

Above her, Kylo Ren's gaze flicks to her lips. Then, with a grunt that might be annoyance or disgust or despair, he rolls off her, abruptly freeing her.

Rey just stays there, her heart pounding, as pinned by his expression as she’d been by his hands. Blood flows back into the places he’d been gripping, and she absently rubs her wrist, staring up at the balcony above his bed.

Without his body to smother it, the light from her holocron fills the room again, bathing their bodies in eerie, shivering light.

For a minute they just sit there in total silence. What is he thinking? Did he feel that too? Does he know the word for what that was, and would he teach it to her?

Rey sits up, but only to draw her arms around her knees and ball herself up. The air in his room is cold, like everywhere else. In her own chambers, she’d modified the heating coils to keep her space at a tolerably baking heat. 

But alone in his big, empty space, with this big, unknowable bedfellow, she feels cold.

Suddenly, she’s talking.

“Do you want to know how I got here?”

She hears him turn his head, his expression unreadable again.

“Yes.”

“I was eleven. I’d been an orphaned scavenger on Jakku. I figured out how to hotwire ships, so I packed up all my things, stored up as many rations as I could, and hijacked a ship.”

“At eleven?”

Rey shrugs. “Hunger makes pilots out of just about anyone.”

She trails off, remembering the triumph she’d felt as she’d hit the accelerator, the way it felt like her whole body was leaping up with the ship, that she was part of the machine and they were flying, they were _flying_ together.

“That must have been quite something,” is all he says.

“I got one system away before they found me. They'd been looking for me all my life, only I never knew. The Final Order was very weak at the time, but I flew within range of his perception, or maybe I matured enough in the Force that day to become…”

“Vulnerable?”

His voice is soft and gentle. Like he understands.

“Visible,” she corrects. “They intercepted me on my way to Corellia.” A long pause, and she’s grateful to him for not filling it. The space gives her the courage to keep going. “I wanted…I wanted to be a _mechanic_.”

Her voice is bitter even to her own ears. Just thinking about that dream makes her feel kind of sick to her stomach. There are things that she can have, and there are things that she cannot.

“And instead, you became a princess.”

Rey clears her throat. “You asked about me, and that’s what I can tell you. Repeat any of it and I’ll poison you slowly.”

He laughs, but not unkindly. “Noted.”

The darkness around them feels softer than before. Less like an oppressive void and more like dark fabric.

Kylo's voice is quiet, not at all the heated murmur from before. "I don't even remember the first time Snoke started talking to me. I have no idea how he found me."

Rey glances over at him, but his face is hard.

"You were a child when it started?”

He says, "For most of my life I thought he was helping me."

"Snoke?"

"Yeah."

"Did he want you to... to kill Han Solo?"

Rey understands the power that a word like "father" has. If she can grant him this mercy, she will.

Kylo seems lost in thought. "And my mother, too."

"But you didn't?"

"I didn't."

"Is she still alive?"

He looks at her, seeming to come back from wherever his thoughts had taken him.

"Yes, as far as I know. Don't you know about the Resistance?"

Embarrassment over her own ignorance pinks her cheeks, and she twists her mouth in an expression that immediately gives the truth away.

No, she doesn't know much of anything. If she thought she did, his arrival here has robbed her of that illusion. 

Rey thinks of the Archivist and the datapad she'd requested about the First Order. That information wasn't just laying around, she had to request it, and There's a 70% chance that he reported that request up the line. Information, like power, is a carefully controlled resource at the court.

"They... they keep a lot of information from me. It's hard to learn things," she mumbles.

She regrets the words immediately, because Kylo's face is suddenly alive with remorse and a kind of gentleness that she doesn't want but can't stop looking at.

"Oh. Well, my mother-" he cuts off, seeming to struggle. Rey, being utterly motherless, has no idea how to help. "My mother was a senator."

Rey has met many senators, and scans her memory, flipping through every dark haired middle aged woman who might have crossed her path. "Was she involved with the Shadow Collective? Or the early First Order?"

Kylo's expression changes. "She lead the Resistance that fought those organizations. She was the bane of their existence."

"Oh."

"Rey, just how isolated _are_ you out here?"

Rey blows out a long breath, the cold air giving her goosebumps. "I'm tired, Kylo."

She is tired. Really tired. A part of her wants to curl up in a little ball at his side, not touching him, but just out of arms reach and buried under his coverlet. "I'm going to bed."

In the dim glow, his face looks pensive, like he’s thinking hard.

“Here?”

Rey straightens her back, offended, though she’s not sure by what exactly.

“No, of course not. I can’t get caught here.”

“I thought maybe you wanted to get caught,” he says absently. “Silk night dress, and all. Midnight affair. A lot easier to explain than murder. Smart.”

“I needed a cover. Some of us think ahead,” she says acidly.

“Should we go with that then? Let them think we’re sleeping with each other?” He seems a little too taken with the notion. “The Emperor wouldn’t mind, if his little speech was anything to go by. A _cup_ ,” he mutters contemptuously.

“Don’t talk like that,” she snaps, and then, “He has ears everywhere.”

Kylo turns and looks at her, his expression heating.

“You’re cold. Here,” he says, tossing a blanket at her. It’s black and soft and unexpectedly heavy. She catches it with a little oof of surprise.

“No,” she lies.

“It might be your cover story, but that night dress gives an awful lot of information away,” he says, looking her dead in the eye. 

Confused, Rey glances down at the nightdress and then- _oh_. With a muffled groan, she draws the blanket hurriedly around her chest and body. Already, she can feel herself blushing.

Kylo has the decency not to smirk, but it feels like it’s taking a great deal of effort.

Scrabbling off the bed, she gets to her feet and walks to the door.

“Rey,” he says, and despite herself she stops at the door. He’s getting up, and a large part of her brain says that she should run. Right now. But he pads towards her, his unexpectedly mundane pajama bottoms low on his hip, and she just stands there.

It’s not that she’s not afraid- she is. It’s that she _has_ to know what’s going to happen.

The light catches on something gold- a band wrapped around his upper arm. It’s crude and flat, like someone hammered it, and it sits flush against his skin. She wonders what it is. But then he’s at her side, about a foot away.

Without warning, he grabs her hand and presses something metal into it. She looks down at their joined hands and stares in shock at the dagger. He wraps her fingers around the hilt, holding the metal between them.

“If you’re going to stab me,” he says, “You should do it with a tool that’s worthy of you.”

Rey grips the knife. It’s the second time a man she doesn’t trust has given her a weapon, and she’s not entirely sure she likes this.

“I’ll accept this,” she says. “But we aren’t friends. And if anyone asks, I will vehemently deny any hint of romance between us.”

Something sly flickers in his eyes. It surprises her. It’s nearly playful.

“Which is to say that you’re going to add fuel to the rumors.”

“So you’re capable of understanding subtlety after all,” she whispers, grinning up at him with a sly smile of her own. With a flick of her wrist, she holsters the knife in her thigh band.

Kylo makes an odd noise. “Are you always wearing that?”

“That,” Rey says flatly, “is the kind of thing I only tell my friends.”

His eyes narrows and he looks like he wants to say something else, but he thinks better of it, because all he says is, “Goodnight, Rey.”

When Marth wakes Rey up the next morning, the first thing Rey does is feel for the knife. It’s still strapped to her thigh, concealed under the tangle she’s made of her blankets.

Marth is bustling around the room, preparing Rey’s caf tray and cleaning up the garments from the night before. Rey swallows her morning pills without complaint, listening to Marth chatter about the day's gossip.

“-and the other night they were saying that Moff Vellian is having seven crates of those flowers- ah, what are they called- the white ones we can’t get here-”

“Pom blooms,” Rey says absently. Her brain is humming with thoughts of the night before. Had she really done that? Evidently she’d taken leave of her senses. After a night of sleep, it sounds beyond stupid.

Kill him? Had she really thought she could do that? And worse, she'd let him see her. Really see her. She'd all but poured her heart out to him in the dark, sitting there in that stupid night gown. Gods, what is he going to do with everything she gave him?

She'd given up so much, shared so freely of a resource that is very, very scarce.

If she were Kylo Ren, she would take the information straight to someone in power. If not the Emperor, then one of Rey's enemies. There are so many avenues that it almost makes her head hurt.

Curry favor with the Emperor by telling him that his granddaughter considered murder? Go to the Sith acolytes and share information of her weakness in the Dark Side? Inform Severn that she'd considered the idea of a fake courtship as cover? Hell, he could even go to the Alchemist, if he was really smart. Find out why she's always wearing that crown. Figure out how to use it himself.

But somehow, behind the panic and the anxiety, lurks something else. A thrumming feeling just behind her chest, warm and alive. It is a question.

What if he _doesn't_ betray her?

What if what he said was true, and he came here for her, and he wants to help her? What if he holds the emotions she'd showed him in the palm of his hand, gentle and careful? What if he guards them the way he had that knife?

Ry rubs her temples, her head spinning, her heart hurting.

Marth is still chattering. “But you know, Severn’s page was telling me all this stuff so it’s probably lies. Although, you know what else she said?”

_You have clouded my every waking thought the last month._

Rey scowls. What is _wrong_ with him?

Marth pours a cup of and continues her story, “She said that they had nightbloomers brought in, too.”

Rey blinks, the word jogging a memory. Nightbloomers?

"The flowers from the Goazon badlands?"

A memory blooms in front of her. Dried red blossoms resting in a crude clay vase. One of her few ornaments. A childish thought. What had she told herself about those flowers?

_To remind myself that there is beauty everywhere._

Marth, distracted with her task, doesn’t notice Rey’s expression. “I told Kotta, I said, ‘Why would a Moff want to bring flowers in from Jakku when he could get them from anywhere?' but she said he has crates of them out in the outer fields. Just waiting-”

“Marth,” Rey says, shucking the blankets off. “Where is Kylo Ren?”

“I have no idea,” Marth says, her eyes wide and guileless as she crosses with a cup of caf to Rey's bed. Rey takes it, but Marth doesn't meet her eyes. “What would you like to wear today, my lady?”

Rey takes a long sip. “Give me something red.”

Marth considers. “The red with the gold trim? Bit heavy for morning, though.”

“That’s perfect," and then, trying not to sound overly interested. "Marth, what are they saying downstairs? Is there any gossip?"

"Gossip, my lady?"

"About Kylo Ren. And, uh, me," Rey says. If Kylo Ren has leaked the story of their "tryst," then it will already be spreading around the halls.

"Uh," Marth says, turning to her with her wide, pale purple eyes. "My lady-"

"Marth," Rey says, warningly. Marth has her frantically-trying-to-think-of-a-lie face on. 

"I don't know what the gossip is," Marth says.

"Marth, you truly are an awful liar."

"That's not a lie," Marth says hotly. "I don't know, because I haven't been down to the servant's hall this morning."

Well _that_ wasn't the answer she'd been expecting. Rey's first response is surprise and annoyance. Marth should know better than to stay out of bed overnight; if her hall minder found her, the girl will likely be sentenced to a beating, and then Rey will have to intercede on her behalf, and then the disgruntled hall monitor will make Marth's life difficult for months in retribution.

Where would Marth even go? There are many hiding places in the Sith Palace, but they're all cold and awful, and not at all the sort of place you'd want to stay over night.

And then a new thought arrives, fully formed and horrible.

 _Someone must have seen Marth the night she snuck out to warn Rey of the incoming ship_. The night she'd been sneaking around in the Great Hall and seen the guards running for the surface. It had totally slipped Rey's mind to ask why Marth had been breaking the rules like that, but in her distraction she'd utterly forgotten.

If someone saw her, then Rey already knows what the Generals would have done to the girl. Not kill her, maybe not even leave a mark in a place where Rey might see it. But something else.

"Marth, did they take you somewhere? Did they lock you away for the night?" Rey crosses to her page, grabs her by the shoulders. "Did they put you in a room with that- that _awful_ creature-"

Marth's face is red. "My lady, no, no, it's not that, they didn't put me in a cell. Nobody saw me that night. I haven't been punished."

Rey's relief feels like a glass of cool water after a day of unbearable thirst.

"Thank the gods," Rey says, gripping Marth's shoulders a little tighter. The idea strikes her to pull Marth into a hug, but she just releases the girl, knowing that a display of physical affection would be neither appropriate, precedented, nor welcomed.

"Then what kept you from your breakfast? You must be starving. Here, eat mine," Rey says, lifting her morning bun up in offering.

Marth shakes her head vigorously. "I could never."

"You can either tell me what kept you above hall last night," Rey says casually, "Or you can eat breakfast. Choose."

The look of startled annoyance on Marth's face is immediate and unchecked. But then, lips pursed, she holds her hand out for the breakfast roll in wordless resignation. Rey tosses it to her, and Marth takes a bite with a sullen but admirable air of composure.

Rey leans against the faded embroidery of her armchair, surveying the girl. It's not like Marth to keep secrets. But then, no one here is an open book. Marth would be foolish to tell Rey everything.

Perhaps it is more accurate to say that Rey has never _noticed_ Marth keeping secrets. It's why she's always felt protective of her. If things were different, maybe even sisterly. Marth is that kind of person; she inspires gentleness.

What would that be like? To enter a room and have soft gazes land on you in all directions? To have nothing worth stealing but fond glances?

"Your affairs are your own," Rey says. "But if you don't tell me what you're up to, I can't keep an eye out for you. The less I know, the less able I am to protect you."

Marth, pulling out the red dress for the day, blows out a long breath.

"I know. Believe me, I know. Everything you've done for me, majesty. I am aware that I owe you my life, and have therefore forfeited the right to keep secrets from you. But it's not my secret to tell. Otherwise I would spill my imperial guts to you. I hope you know that.”

Rey turns away from her page to slip her night gown over her head and tug on the shift she'll wear under her dress today. It's a silky, sheer thing with tiny straps.

"Of course, Marth. But please be cautious. These are... these are especially dangerous times."

When Rey turns around, Marth is bowing deeply, her hand pressed to her heart and her slight form bent at the waist. It's the most respectful and humble gesture any servant can make, fit only for the lowest of the cleaners. It's the kind of obeisance you would make to a queen.

"Marth," Rey chokes out, startled.

"Please accept my apologies, highness," Marth says, her voice thick.

"Marth this is - please rise," Rey says. Something about her postulation feels off, like Marth is apologizing for something else. The idea that Marth of all people might betray her, might have _already_ done so, is unwelcome and uncharitable. She discards it.

If she can give Marth anything, it is what little faith Rey can spare.

Rey puts her hand on Marth's cheek, lifting the girl's face with a gentle hand.

"In as much as any of us can be, you are your own mistress, Marth. Please rise."

Marth blinks, nodding with great solemnity.

"Yes, highness."

"Now," Rey says, forcing her tone to brighten. "The dress, please."

"It's the kind with a million buttons," Marth warns. 

Rey thinks about what might be waiting for her in the Great Hall and sighs. "I'm in no particular hurry."

XX

When she descends the enormous stairs in the Great Hall, Rey picks him out in the crowd of milling courtiers immediately. He’s standing inconspicuously off to one side, his expression impassive. When he turns and looks up at her, Rey has to stop herself from faltering in her step, because he’s not wearing the mask.

This must be the first time he’s faced the court with his face showing. Rey realizes with a note of delicious irony that the high minded court are snubbing him, shoving him off to one side to exclude him from the courtly ritual of attending the Princess as she descends.

But he's only looking at her, his expression unreadable.

_Have you betrayed me? Would you do that to me?_

He answers her wordless question only with a raised eyebrow.

When she reaches the bottom step, he cuts through the crowd to stand directly in front of her. It's an offense so severe that she hears people in the crowd actually gasp.

At the edge of the circle, she sees Severn's eyes widen, but in recognition, not shock.

Rey stares into his eyes, trying to get a read on him. All she's conscious of is that his eyes are skimming her up and down, taking in the red brocade, the gold trim cutting across the bodice, the glimmering stones inlaid into the square cut neckline. She'd forgone the cloak, leaving her neck exposed. Knowing he would be looking.

In some ways, she hates that she knows what effect her body can have on men. Hates that she will never always have a target on her back. But in this moment, she is pleased to the tips of her toes that _Kylo Ren_ is seeing the swell of her breasts, the dip of her collar bones, the line of her neck. His eyes don't for one minute lift to stare at the gleaming tips of her crown.

If he is standing her to confront here, to out her in front of all the world, then he's taking his sweet time doing it.

Around them, the court stares and stares, and she can almost feel the weight of their held breaths.

Without a word, she holds her hand out to him, her bejeweled fingers and her braceleted wrists ringing softly in the stillness.

For one awful second she thinks he's going to spurn her. That this is the moment when he finally betrays her. But he only bows his head and presses a light kiss onto the back of her hand. Everything he does, walking, fighting, pinning her onto a mattress and kissing her hand, seems to get his full and undivided attention.

"Princess," he says, straightening. His lips twitch. "Sleep well?"

"What a bold question," she says lightly. Knowing people will hear.

"I beg your forgiveness, highness. Allow me to escort you," he says coolly, mastering the diffident yet deferential manner shared among royal equals. 

He holds an arm out, and she surpressess an expression of surprise that he's so familiar with the courtly procedure for these things. Has he been at a court before? He acts like it.

_There's so much she doesn't know about him._

"With pleasure," she says.

And tucks her arm into his.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so so happy because people made art between the last update and this one? I'm? Excuse me how DARE you because they're all so ridiculously beautiful???
> 
> Karolina's [darling portrait of the two space morons.](https://twitter.com/kariito_chii/status/1223803287130050560?s=21) I love Rey's expression in this one so much, it's so pissy and cute. 
> 
> Derpy_mommy made [this incredible portrait of dark Rey](https://twitter.com/viwiwrites/status/1224723173675032581?s=21%3Cbr%20/%3E) in her crown with a choker and this dress with these fucking incredible sleeves??? I'm absolutely living for it, and her outfit is going to appear in a later chapter! 
> 
> And Lucia is working on this [fantastic WIP of dark rey and grandpa palps](https://twitter.com/lucia_rinkel/status/1224850919411593217?s=21<br%20/>) that is so dope, I love her take on Rey's crown and also... excellent tiddy. 
> 
> FINCHES drew [this incredible scene from the last chapter](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1222693812943966213) and it hurts me how beautiful it is???
> 
> Please please go check them out and give the artists a follow because god knows they deserve them!
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd sincerely appreciate a comment here on Ao3 or a follow [my Twitter account.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates!!


	7. 7

* * *

  


**CHAPTER 7**

  


* * *

And just like that, Rey begins training Kylo Ren in the fine art of Sith politics. 

He isn’t inelegant, and thankfully he's already strong, so in most ways she has little work to do. What he lacks is something harder to refine. There’s something rough and unpolished, something damaged about him, which would be fine if he knew how to hide it like the rest of them. But to Rey, it seems an obvious vulnerability. Maybe it's only because she feels such a clear _sense_ of him, but her first and only goal when it comes to his image is to teach him to control himself.

Luckily, correcting some little faults in his deportment will project the _appearance_ of self-control, which is really all that matters. 

First up? New clothes. Her grandfather's request had been that he appear presentable, and "presentable" means impressive, heavy garments that suggest rank. 

This is how they end up at Lennix's studio on the second floor below the main floor.

Rey prowls around Kylo as he stands, upright and scowling, on the too-small dais in the middle of the room. He's dressed in a set of clothes Lennix had on hand for someone else, and though they don't fit quite right, the impact is immediate. The dark tunic, embroidered with runes and emblems in a thread one shade lighter, and the fine jacket gives him an immediate air of importance. The gold embroidery at the seams highlights just how broad and strong he is. 

Rey glances down at her own gown, a light gray silk confection whose skirt is made of layers of ripped tulle, cinching at the waist in a severe gray band. The fitted bodice is structured with wire boning that keeps her posture straight, and the attached cape is clipped to her sleeves with silver clasps. 

Marth picked this dress out very carefully in anticipation of the palace clothier's inevitable inspection. Marth has her professional honor on the line if Rey looks anything less than perfect in front of Lennix. But the enormously tall Nikto's attention is fixed intently on Kylo, no doubt _already_ machinating a full collection of tunics, pants, jackets, cloaks, boots, belts, and who knows what else for his newest project. 

A small hive of assistants are swirling around, taking measurements in the bright light of the atelier's enormous overhead glowlight. It takes up nearly the entire ceiling. 

"I will work with him," Lennix says flatly, his voice a rasp. The fine claws of his dominant hand tap on the sewing table nearby, surveying the sight of Kylo Ren lit from above. 

Someone drapes a black velvet cape around Kylo's shoulders.

"But is it, I mean..." Marth says, seated on a nearby ottoman with her chin in her hands. "Its just that he's such an awfully _large_ man. Shouldn't we give him a hat or something? To make him look even taller?"

Kylo sighs. "No hats."

Marth rolls her eyes and drops her voice to a low murmur. "The man wears a mask his whole life but suddenly a _hat_ is a ridiculous idea?"

Rey gives her a sharp look. Marth seems a little too comfortable around him, and it makes her nervous. They're allies, but Rey only trusts him about as far as she can throw him. 

Lennix shakes his head. "No hat."

"What about the cape?"

"He needs something grander," Rey says. The attendant removes the offending cloak.

"How do you get grander than black silk?" Kylo mutters. 

Lennix says. "There is such a garment." He gestures at his assistant, who shuffles out with a piece of fabric held reverently in his hands. Rey crosses to Lennix, and they bend over the fine fabric. It’s black, naturally, but lined in differing textures of thick flocking and smooth silk. It feels heavy and warm in her fingers, delicate and finely woven in a way that modern machine fabrics can't imitate. 

" _Stars_ ," Rey says reverently. 

"It looks like senate drapery," Kylo says flatly.

"Shush," Rey says, ignoring him as she inspects the fine stitching. "This isn’t your work, is it? It’s so delicate. Where did this come from?"

"Special collections," he says. 

"So we'll use it as a pattern, correct?" 

"If your highness desires it."

Lennix sends the garment with the attendant, who crosses in stately formality to drape it across Kylo's shoulders. It unfurls around him in a soft thud, cloaking him in darkness. The effect is immediate. The pooling fabric is heavy and distinguished, the design stately. He looks... well, he looks like a prince. After seeing him for days in his perfunctory training clothes, it's hard not to stare at him. 

An attendant is adjusting his hair, brushing it back into the sleek, coiffed look she’s familiar with among the courtiers. But still, something is bothering her about it. It isn’t quite right.

"Marth," Rey says, turning to her page. "Do you think it's too dark?"

"It's black," Kylo says flatly. “What did you expect?”

"But it’s a warm toned black," Marth says soothingly. 

"When his new one is made, Lennix, I wonder if we might do something about the collar.” 

Marth snaps her fingers. “That’s it. It’s the collar. It seems awfully fussy. Almost... antique."

"It _is_ an antique. This cloak is from the Clone Wars."

Everyone stops, falling quiet at the very mention of that piece of history. They aren’t really supposed to talk about it. At least, not in an open environment like this. Rey scrutinizes the cloak again, this time noting the faint designs she can pick out. It suggests lakes and swaying grasses, and yet it isn't gentle or beautiful. The design is abstract, and it reminds her of someone.

Rey blinks. "Lennix. Whose cloak was this?"

"It is his Majesty the emperor's cloak, from his senate days."

The room goes utterly still.

Marth is the first one to speak. "Lennix, you madman, you can't put the Emperor's cloak on _Kylo Ren_."

Lennix is unmoved, crossing his arms. 

"If he is to be the Emperor's successor, then he ought to dress like it. You asked me to portray strength. This is what strength means."

Kylo looks on, the cloak’s stiff collar pulled straight up. 

Silence. Rey clears her throat.

"He can’t wear the original. Fashion a pattern, then.” 

“And the collar?” Lennix says.

Rey looks at Kylo, who stares back at her. 

She makes a decision. “No collar." 

"Yes, my lady," Lennix says. And then, like nothing has happened, he says, "Since you are here, we will measure you for your new gown."

Rey narrows her eyes. "You _have_ my measurements."

The attendants carefully remove the Emperor's cloak, folding it neatly. 

"This gown is special," he says, toneless as ever. "It needs to fit exactly."

Marth brightens. "Oh, it's fitted?"

"It will require her highness to bend with extreme caution," is all Lennix will concede.

Kylo Ren laughs, but stifles it in a cough. Marth claps her hands. 

"Finally, something _fun_. My lady, with respect, if I have to fit another meter long train in your trunk, I may die."

Rey rubs a temple. "When I said I wanted something festive for Moff Velian's party, I didn't mean-"

"I am a Nikto, my lady. We are a literal people."

She swears he's smiling. Though it could be a grimace. Hard to tell. 

"You're taking revenge on me for spilling caf on my last name day gown," she accuses, but she gets up anyway. 

"Please step onto the dais," Lennix says. 

Rey scowls but obeys him, watching as Kylo steps down from the dais and flops down onto the chaise she'd just vacated. Marth sidles over to him, barely concealing her curiosity. An attendant with careful hands begins undoing Rey's gown, the buttons popping open with little snapping noises. 

Kylo frowns. "Wait, uh, she's not going to-"

Marth makes a scandalized noise. "Of course not. She wears a shift underneath. You won’t see anything."

Kylo relaxes, but his eyes linger. 

"It's fine," she says. She's been up on this platform, stuck through with pins and pattern pieces so often that it feels almost natural to stand in the middle of a room with her arms held out. The only thing that isn’t normal about it, really, is Kylo.

Her body has never seemed _less_ like a tool to her than it does now, displayed in front of him as her gown is gently pried from her body. The shift she wears is thin and made of fine silk, and it goes to just above her knees. She wishes they covered her them, because they’re still bruised from when she’d fallen last time her grandfather had taken from her, and she’s conscious of the purple mottling there.

Her gowns are generally long to hide that unfortunate side effect.

His eyes linger on the bruises, and she cringes as he frowns. Marth, bless her, intercedes. 

"Now," Marth says, pulling up a data pad. "Lord Ren."

“ _Lord_ Ren?” 

Rey snorts, and Marth gives her an exasperated look. "We have to call him something, and he has no title I know about."

"I am descended from a queen and a princess," he says. "Does that help you?"

_He's what?_

Lennix is the only one who seems unaffected, snapping at the seamstress to continue her measurements.

"Fascinating. What houses?" 

"House Naberrie, and House Organa."

"Of course," Marth says, typing furiously. "Yes, I can work with that. We can style you 'his royal highness' in that case, without ruffling any feathers."

"I didn't know you belonged to the Elder Houses," Rey says, turning slightly so the seamstress can take her waist measurement. 

Kylo's eyes linger on her collar bones, and she feels his gaze on her body like he's physically touching her.

"I haven't used the title in years." 

Marth is scanning a document, her eyes flicking back and forth across the screen. "So... your birth name. You were born-"

"Marth," Rey snaps, knowing somehow that his given name is not something that should be used lightly. 

But Kylo only sighs, his face unreadable. "I was born Ben Solo, yes."

"Do you have a lightsaber?" Marth chirps, as if this is a normal thing to ask someone. 

Rey blinks. Gods, not this again. 

"I do."

"Can I try it?"

"Marth," Rey says, exasperated. " _No_." 

Kylo just waves Rey off. "You have to start with a stick before you graduate to a lightsaber, little star fighter."

Marth looks disappointed, but not for long. 

Kylo reaches over and hands Marth a long metal rod from a disassembled garment rack laying in pieces on a nearby cart. Marth takes the stick, which is about the length of her whole torso, and gets to her feet. Tossing the piece of metal between her hands experimentally, Marth shifts back and forth in an exaggerated imitation of fancy footwork, and Rey's heart starts to beat as Kylo gets up, picking up a stick of his own. 

_They're going to spar._

Marth has no combat skills, which was an intentional choice on her grandfather's part. From the outside, she appears a poor ally. Watching her now, turning to face Kylo with a spring in her step and a light in her eyes, Rey feels suddenly nervous for her.

"Kylo," Rey says, thick with worry but unable to do anything without being stuck by a thousand annoying pins from the pattern pieces currently fixed to her shift. 

"Marth," Kylo says, advancing on the girl. "Hold your stick up in a defensive position. Feet apart. There's a girl. Now, this is the Sith court, so we’ll start with dark side saber basics.” 

Marth gives him a little smile. “Which are?”

“Offense and defense."

With a grunt, Marth leaps forward and sticks the metal rod at Kylo's chest. He blocks it easily, and Rey holds her breath. 

"Marth," Rey whispers, horrified. Her page has just _struck_ Kylo Ren. She'd gone for his _heart_. It’s a breach of etiquette so unimaginable that she doesn’t eve have a curse word for it. Not that violence among court people is unheard of, but the class system enforced between servants and nobility is extremely rigid. Attacking a noble is a hanging offense. 

Marth looks at Rey, then back to Kylo, but Kylo only laughs. "How could I forget the third Sith fighting style? Cheap shots."

Marth colors and sketches a quick bow, dropping her stick and scurrying back. 

Kylo turns to Rey, grinning, but she scowls at him. "You could get her in serious trouble."

"Marth, fetch the pole again," Kylo says, not breaking eye contact. There’s a challenge in his eyes that seems meant for Rey alone. 

"Marth, I absolutely forbid you," Rey barks. 

Kylo drags his metal pole across the stone floor, eyeing Rey lazily.

"As Marth pointed out, I am doubly royal, which means, I think," Kylo says. "That I outrank you, Princess."

And then he points the pole at Marth, the blunt end _right_ at her throat. It's so menacing, so direct, that her anxiety ratchets up two notches. 

“Now,” he says, very calmly. “Let us look at _offensive_ maneuvers.”

Rey sees real fear in her page’s eyes, and Rey understands why. He has her backed up against the stone pillar with no room to move.

“Enough,” Rey snaps. 

Rey’s hand snaps out, pulling the metal pole from Kylo’s hand and sending it flying into her own. She advances, ignoring the pins and the pattern pieces fluttering to the ground. By the time Kylo turns to look at her, he has only one second to avoid the metal rod she’s sending straight at his head. 

He steps back, and Rey instantly puts herself between Marth and Kylo. 

“ _Don’t_ ,” is all she can think to say. Because really, that’s the whole sentiment. _Back off, don't try it._

He looks at her, that intensity evaporating as an odd look crosses his face. 

“Interesting,” is all he says. Like he’d been testing her for some quality or attribute. 

“I don’t-”

Kylo drops his metal pole with an obnoxiously loud clatter and dips his head to her. “Thank you, this has been most instructive.”

"You think you can just walk away from me? You challenged my authority over my own staff," Rey hisses.

Kylo looks at her, undaunted. "You like a fight, don’t you Rey?"

"Marth," she snaps. "Bring me the stick."

Now the girl does not hesitate to obey, scurrying for the metal rod and handing it to Rey with a whispered _sorry sorry sorry._

Rey steps into a perfect first form fighter's position, her bare feet solid and anchored on the ground, and glowers at Kylo with her jaw clenched. Why is it always _Marth_ that people use to get to her? Why does it always have to be kriffing Marth? 

"I'm not going to fight you," he says. But he picks up the stick. 

Rey shrugs. And attacks. 

She might not be as strong as him in the Force, but she is sure she has more practice with a crude melee weapon. He blocks the first strike but misses the second, hitting him on the soft of his upper back and sending him staggering back as he whirls around again to look at her. 

His color is up, his breath comes hot, and there’s a smile on his face that she doesn’t trust at _all._ "Oh, so it's like that?"

And then he's coming for her, his posture a physical definition of the word “offensive.” He lunges, bringing his stick forward in a quick stabbing motion, which leaves him open and vulnerable on his non-dominant side. She dodges the blow, then brings her own staff up from underneath to smack his side. 

That’s two hits she has on him, and the rush of pleasure and adrenaline in her veins makes her feel about ten feet tall. 

He swears, feinting left, and then swipes for her feet, which she hadn’t been expecting. She jumps, but too late, and is sent skidding across the floor. 

Lennix _tsks_ his disapproval, either at the cheap trick or the way her silk shift is going to be utterly ruined by the end of this. 

"If only the Masters could see this," she hears Marth say, her voice awed. 

Rey scrabbles to her feet, and then he's on her again, towering above her with his stick pointed right at her chest, and Rey has had just about _enough_. 

She kicks, and he's anticipating it so he doges, which is exactly what she’d been counting on. His sidestep puts all his weight on one foot, and she swipes at it and he goes sailing backwards. Then she's on him, climbing on top of his chest and bringing her own pole against his throat, pinning him at the neck and using her body as a weight to hold him down. 

"Never," Rey says, chest heaving, blood singing, "Use my page to get to me again."

The pole clatters to the floor.

He stares up at her, breathing hard. Their eyes meet and suddenly she is conscious that she is straddling his chest, her legs splayed on either side of him. She feels every inch of contact between them, and it’s like being this close to him has shot her full of lightning. 

One of his hands brushes the soft dip of her bare ankle where she’s pressing it into the ground, and something warm and unexpected unfurls in her chest. His breath catches, too. 

His mouth opens like he's going to say something, but Rey doesn't hear it because her head is full of thunder. A deafening howl of displeasure, of hunger, of _come to me now_ that has her fighting off a sudden bout of nausea. 

Not now. Not now, not _now_. 

Before Kylo Ren, it had felt logical that her grandfather would control her and steal from her. She hated it, of course, but she had never known that there was an opposite sensation to feeling sick and weak, never realized that another person can make your body feel strong, can make you feel pleasure. Can gently skim a thumb along your bare foot and make you shiver. 

She wants more of that feeling, and Kylo Ren _has_ it and can give it to her. 

All of this comes to her so quickly that she loses her breath at the sudden correctness of it. The contrast between how she had felt a heartbeat before and the way she feels now is so severe that for a moment she loses her balance, the dizziness overtaking her. 

Kylo's hand is suddenly on her lower back, steadying her as he sits up, tenting his knees so she’s leaning against it, held in the valley of his body.

Marth is on her feet, running to her side. 

"Rey," Kylo is saying. "What’s happening?"

"Can you- can you hear it?” 

Is that really her voice? That reedy, quiet sound? 

“Hear what?”

“The roaring in my head. I always wondered if other people could hear it."

He frowns, confusion etched across his features. Rey scrambles to collect herself, recovering from the lightning-strike feeling. 

He puts a hand on her forehead, his touch gentle, but the minute she feels the first touches of the Force radiating from his palm she scrabbles off him, every instinct in her body screaming at her to run, to flee, to fight. 

Marth grips Rey by the arms, giving her a bright smile, trying to diffuse the situation and establish a cover story. 

“Another headache, my lady?”

Rey catches her words like the lifeline they are. 

“Yes, I’m- it came on suddenly.” 

"Deep breath," Marth says warningly, beckoning the clothiers to bring Rey’s dress. 

Rey closes her eyes as gentle hands slip her gray dress over her head again. 

"I hate deep breaths." 

"Do it or you'll throw up," Marth says, very seriously, shooing the clothiers away and doing up the buttons in the back herself with careful hands that never once touch her skin. 

Rey glances at Kylo, who is on his feet again, his expression deeply concerned. Apparently, he wasn’t fooled by the cover story. 

“Oh, hell,” Marth mutters, as the doors open and three guards dressed in red uniforms polished to a blistering shine stride in. 

Suddenly, Kylo is turning, his posture _offensive_ , and this is officially going to be a scene _._

"I know, I know," she says, before they can bark an order at her. "The Emperor requires me, and so on, and so forth. Give me a minute to put my shoes on."

"My lady, _now_ ," says the lead guard as Marth frantically helps Rey step into her shoes again.

Kylo Ren turns his head and looks at her, his expression questioning why she would tolerate disrespect like this. But the guards know what Kylo Ren does not: she's currently too sick to fight them. 

Gods, she feels dizzy. The roaring is only getting worse as Marth scrambles to collect Rey’s things. 

Clearing her throat, she gives him a smile, "Stay here and resume your fitting. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?"

He says it like this is out of the question. 

She gives him a smile. "Just to see the Emperor. And I really do have a headache. I’ll probably rest."

"I'll go with you."

Rey shakes her head, already running through the routine in her mind to seal herself back into her own body. "No, you will let me see to my duties."

"You can barely walk," he snaps, visibly annoyed, and she is troubled by how he knows that, exactly. 

Rey drops the smile and lowers her voice, hoping Marth won’t hear. "If you make a scene, it will be worse for me." 

Once she's said it, she regrets it. That's not the kind of thing she should tell him, not the sort of phrase she wants tossed around the court. But maybe he won't. 

"Rey," Kylo says, his eyes going flinty. 

"Stay here." 

She turns, forcing herself to walk in a straight line, conscious only of the ringing silence behind her. _He had not agreed to her command._ And worse, since when did she start thinking of her commands as something she expected him to _agree_ to?

* * *

Rey and the guards walk slowly to the War Room, and then she pulls the doors open. There's no avoiding this. Her grandfather is pacing in an irritable circle, his eyes red and haggard. He looks ragged, his face alive with an energy that makes her stomach churn.

As she approaches, the guards fall back into the shadows, leaving her to walk down the long room alone. 

Before she's even at his side, her grandfather is speaking. "I've heard rumors."

Rey doesn't bother to pretend to not know what he's talking about.

"About Kylo Ren?” 

“And you.”

“I went to his room. I thought to test him.”

“And?”

He isn't asking her opinion because he wants help forming his own. He's _testing_ her. So Rey tells her grandfather the truth.

"I think your instincts were right. He is very powerful."

Her grandfather lets out a long, shaking breath, as if pleased. When he finally turns his gaze on her and really looks, that manic energy seems to abate. His expressions are always difficult to read, but there's something different about him today. He seems almost giddy. 

Their eyes meet, and Rey can't help it. She reaches out with the Force, trying to get a read on him that goes deeper than what she can feel from just looking at him. It's just a probing question, nothing even approaching threatening, but the second he senses what she's doing, Rey feels the energy in the room change. He's suddenly enraged, his teeth bared, and for a moment he looks almost inhuman.

His hand flies out and pulls her to him, and she's a rag doll as he suddenly pulls at her Force energy. What is usually a siphoning is now a hole ripped in her head. It hurts, and she bites her lip to keep from whimpering as she just stands there, held upright only by the sheer force of the energy in her body flowing up her throat and out her temple. On her head, the crown vibrates slightly, as if buffeted by a strong wind. 

Her grandfather is breathing hard, like the effort of taking from her this fast is affecting him too.

When he is satisfied he drops his hand, his chest heaving, and Rey slumps to the ground. 

Her head is ringing, but other than that there is nothing. A dead void in her chest. She registers that her knees hurt very much as she falls onto them. Her face is turned towards the door, and she dimly registers the sight of her grandfather's cloak trailing behind him as he walks away from her towards the door. And then she closes her eyes and slips in that space between heartbeats where there is no pain, no fear.

There is only the Force. 

* * *

When she wakes up, she can tell right away that something very strange is happening. There is a sun inside her skull, a bright, flaring light that she feels all the way down to the tips of her very toes. 

It's so bright that it hurts to keep her eyes shut, she must open them, _must_ wake up or the light will burn her up. Consciousness comes back to her like an electric shock, unexpected and sharp but not quite strong enough to power the whole system. Everything feels surreal and blurred, like an unnatural hand is holding her awake. 

Her eyes open. Her head is resting on something warm and soft, someone is holding her- and for one minute she wonders if this is her grandfather, the only family she has, holding her, helping her. What would she give for one ounce of love like that? Half her heart? All of it? 

"Rey," says Kylo Ren, his hand pressed flat against her forehead. "Rey."

She blinks, registering her surroundings properly. She's still in the War Room, still in her gray dress, except now everything is different because Kylo Ren has his arms wrapped around her, propping her up. He's looking down at her, his expression frantic. _Stars, but he's handsome_. 

"How long- how long was I out?" 

"Five minutes? Rey, I'm so sorry, I never should have let you go alone. Who did this? What happened?"

Five minutes? That can't be right.

"I didn't die," she says, surprised. 

He must have done something to her to wake her up and take away the pain and the numbness. Maybe he overdid it, and that's why she feels like this. Or maybe that's just what it feels like to be held by someone.

She's not quite here, not all the way, at least. But the anxiety in his voice is.

"You were laying on the ground, you weren't moving, Rey, I thought-" 

"Did I hit my head when I fell? I don't remember," she mumbles. It's bad when she hits her head, it takes longer to recover. Rey closes her eyes, twitching finger and limbs for strength and function. All accounted for. She turns her face into the soft fabric of his tunic. He smells good, like something living and solid. 

Kylo says something but it's muffled. 

"I'm so tired," she whispers. 

"Don't go back to sleep," he orders, his voice authoritative. Princely. "Tell me who did this." 

"Kylo," she says, her voice quiet. "Please." 

"Tell me what to do," he says, almost shouting. 

Rey only nuzzles her head into the dip of his shoulder, wishing she could crack him open and drink deeply from the well of that good, safe feeling that seems to surround him whenever he touches her. 

If just for a little while, she will sleep, and she will have this. 

Maybe he feels it too, because he brings a hand to her cheek, and she's too far gone to even flinch. His touch is so gentle, and she turns her face to his fingers. His thumb brushes across her cheek, and when it skirts the edge of her mouth she tilts into it, pressing her lips to kiss his hand. 

"Tell me what I can do," he says. "Give me a command. Rey, please."

His touch is so gentle. 

"When you leave, please don't let my head hit the floor," she mumbles, leaning her head deeper into the warmth of him as if to protect it before the dark takes her back under. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was kiiiind of looking at [this dress when designing Rey's gown](https://bellethemagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/04/Naama-and-Anat-Wedding-Dresses-2020-The-Royal-Blossom-Collection-VIOLET-CAPE.jpg) in my mind, but the reference dress is a LOT sexier and floaty and bridal than what I imagined Rey in.  
> Rey's actual dress has a lot more ["Degas ballerina sculpture before someone made her a new skirt in 2016"](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Little_Dancer_of_Fourteen_Years#/media/File:Dancer_sculpture_by_Degas_at_the_Met.jpg)vibes.
> 
> BRUH THE ART FROM LAST CHAPTER THO: 
> 
> Jordan made [this AMAZING marth](https://twitter.com/jordoofus/status/1227663840084553728) and I love it so much??? 
> 
> Lucia is working on a [LITERAL portrait of Rey and Kylo](https://twitter.com/lucia_rinkel/status/1226732109563297793) that has me screeching
> 
> Finches did this depiction of [Rey sneaking into Kylo's bed and getting uh, pinned down by negotiations](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1225800514899759105) :) 
> 
> And my [commission from winter_of_her on Twitter is done](https://twitter.com/winter_of_her/status/1225716023816421377) and it is BREATHTAKING. She's wonderful and if you need some art seriously consider commissioning her!
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd appreciate a comment here on Ao3 or a follow [my Twitter account.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates. 
> 
> Hope you have a good week!


	8. 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting a day early! Have fun :D

* * *

**CHAPTER 8**

* * *

When Rey wakes up, he's touching her. 

His hand is resting on her torso, which is the first thing she notices. The second is that she's in her own bed, covered up to her neck in her coverlet and sweating in what seems unbearable heat. A flood of comfort and warm and _good_ radiates from where he’s touching her. 

He'd done that thing again, the trick with the light. She feels almost normal even, like the worst thing that happened to her in the last few hours was a disorienting nap. Her heart is hammering, her vision is clear, and her senses are sharp. 

She sits up, gasping for breath, as if her whole body has been jump started.

Kylo keeps his hand on her, holding her gently down to stop her from thrashing as she gasps out.

"What time is it?" 

Kylo glances at the timepiece on her mantle. "You've been out for about an hour."

Her heart is racing. "An hour?" 

That's it? Only an hour?

Only now does she sense the burning _something_ clinging to Kylo Ren. As the good feeling fades, she senses the danger. His hand on her stomach is inert, the light that had filled her mind gone now. 

She pushes his hand off. 

"You did something to me," she says, trying hard not to make it sound like an accusation. "That light-"

"I gave you some of my Force energy. Do you want to know _why_?"

She does _not_. 

"Kylo-"

He will not be stopped. 

"Because someone _stole_ almost all of yours. You were bleeding your Force signature into the air, Rey, and I felt it. It took me ten minutes to revive you properly. Someone did that to you, and there's only one person who it could be."

Rey holds his gaze. He's breathing hard, and he looks frantic. The effort of reviving him must have pushed him too far. Thinking of him choosing to do what her grandfather forces her to is awful. That he must have felt that sick wrongness is appalling. Why would he choose that willingly? Why would he hurt himself like that? For her?

Does he intend to indebt her to him? Is he trying to win her trust? 

"I'm sorry," she whispers. 

He blinks. "What?"

"I'm sorry you gave me your energy. Please don't do it again. Nothing free born should subject themselves to that. Do you need headache powder or-"

He holds up a hand. "You're trying to help _me_ right now?"

With a frown, she realizes that, yeah, she is.

"I owe you," she says simply. "I will begin to repay the debt."

"She nearly dies, and she talks about debts!" he says, to no one in particular. 

Rey rolls her eyes, sitting up in bed. She's still wearing the gray dress. Her knees ache a little, but nothing like before. 

"I wasn't dying. I would have recovered in time."

"Do you know what that kind of maneuver does to a person? Long term?"

He looks so angry that it sparks an equal response in her. 

"Of course I know," she growls. "How do you think my father died? Why do you think he wanted me to be born in the first place?" 

She claps a hand over her mouth, as if this could take the words back. She'd promised herself she'd never think about that again, because acknowledging it would only cause her more pain. 

He'd forced her hand. 

Kylo's voice ragged. "How long has he done this to you?"

Rey's already shutting down, but not fast enough. 

"It's none of your business."

Rey shoves the covers all the way off and gets to her feet, batting Kylo's hand away when he grabs her wrist. The gray dress is a mess. She'll need to change before her evening meal. There has to be a way that she can salvage this. 

"We're a team. How can I protect you if you don't tell me this stuff?" Kylo says.

"Close your eyes," she barks at him. 

He stares at her, his expression thunderous. And then, with a tick of his jaw, he closes his eyes. "You can't shut this out, Rey."

Rey makes quick work of the dress. Someone (she refuses to imagine who) has undone the buttons on the back for her, so it slips down easily. She's too skittish to change out of the slip, so she leaves the shredded thing on and grabs the first dress her hands touch.

It's a blousy, peasant style dress meant to be worn under a thick brocade gown, but she doesn't have the stamina to face a corset right now. Anyway, it's not like she's going anywhere. So she pulls the dress on and tugs the hem so it lays straight. 

Turning around again, she surveys Kylo Ren, who is scowling with his eyes closed. For a minute she just stares at him, trying to understand where this anger of his comes from. He won't be put off so easily. She has to give him something. 

"Surely, you must have wondered why he'd keep me around," she says. This, she can talk about. 

He opens his eyes, even though she hasn't told him to. He glances at her up and down, and then turns his gaze to the ceiling as if in great distress. 

"I thought he kept you here because he loved you. You know. Since you're his _family_."

Rey sees no point in being sentimental about it. 

"I have his blood, which means I have his power."

"He keeps himself alive by stealing from his family." Kylo says. "No wonder you wanted to kill me."

Why is he so worked up about her trauma? 

"Don't be overly simplistic," she mutters, shoving her feet into a nearby pair of boots. 

"What's your plan, Rey?" He says, getting to his feet. "Stay here as his human battery until you die? That type of Force theft shortens lifespans if you do it often. How long has this happened to you?"

She sighs. "Kylo. We're both drained and you're being really dramatic about this, which I frankly don't need. It's not right, okay? I know that, but I don't need you judging me for it. And I reject your pity."

His mouth works, and there's a long pause, his expression an odd mix of anger and frustration and buried affection. 

"I had a master who tortured me," he says, very slowly. "He got in my head. It was agonizing. It felt like my brain was made of glass and he was stepping on it."

Rey winces at the rawness, the pain in his voice. He still feels those hurts. 

"I was eighteen the first time he tried it, and when he was done I could barely see, barely talk." 

Rey takes a step toward him, her hands fluttering at her sides. He's trying to evoke pity in her, trying to make a connection so that she will do what he wants. She knows this, and yet she can't help but respond. 

"Oh, Kylo," she murmurs. 

His eyes are fever bright. "So I don't pity you, Rey. I understand you."

 _I don't pity you._ The thought is a balm. 

"Then why did you help me?"

Another of those long pauses. He stares at her, and she can almost hear him trying to think of the right thing to say, the right way to express some huge and complicated thought. 

"What your grandfather does to you is not what I did to you when I revived you."

Her surprise registers immediately on her face. "Then- what?"

"It's easier to show you," he says, taking two hasty steps towards her. It's so quick, so full of intent, that she staggers backwards and nearly runs into the armchair by the fire, which is burning hot and bright. 

Rey shakes her head. "No. Absolutely not."

He's right in front of her now, eyes bright and focused. 

"Rey. Please."

She shoves him back. "No. I might be damaged but I would never, never want you to feel that again, Kylo, how could you think so little of me-"

He puts his hand on her chest, right above her heart, and the light fills her from the inside out. She feels _all_ of it. The great stream of light that starts from inside her and radiates out, a light that she can't see with her eyes but feels with every atom she is made of. It streams out of her, flowing into the air, anchored to her from his hand on her chest. It's... beautiful. 

Rey shoves him out so hard that for a second she sees actual stars sparkling in front of her. He leans back, as if pushed by a physical hand by the sheer wall of _get-out-of-my-head_ that she sends hurling into him. 

When he lets go of her and the light stops, Rey blinks, stunned to find herself sitting on the floor across from him. Her dress has ridden up on her thighs, and he looks disoriented too. Like he felt the same thing she did. 

"What was that?" 

"I healed you," is all he says, his own breaths coming fast. 

He looks flushed, worked up like he's been exercising, but his eyes hold hers with a gleam of dark triumph. 

She scrabbles backwards to put some space between them, hitching up the hem of her dress to expose her knees. Where there had once been purple bruises mottling across her skin, there is now perfect, unblemished skin.

"What-" she says, looking at his face more carefully. There's no haggard damage there, no sunken eyes or dark circles or pale skin. He looks … fine, his expression calm.

This isn’t right. This isn’t how this works. 

Something like panic fills her chest. "That isn't how it works. You gave me your energy- you should be- you should be-"

Gods, what is he? What he's done is such a perversion of what she knows about the Force that it fills her with terrible fear. Nobody should be able to do something like that, just reach out and open some kind of cosmic faucet and pour that good, safe feeling into her. Goodness must be bought, and its price is terrible. Safety, security, ease are things that require struggle, and there is a finite amount of that kind of goodness in the world. Nobody should have that kind of power, and make it feel good. If her grandfather knew- 

She sits up, pushing her skirt back down and leaning over her crossed legs to get closer. "Kylo you have to leave. Right now, we can figure something out-"

On his knees in front of her, Kylo reaches for her hand, and gods he's so intense. "I'm not like your grandfather."

That much is obvious. "No,” she whispers, mesmerized as his fingers wrap around hers. 

How can he be strong like this and still hold her hand like it’s something tender?

"It's very important that you understand this," he says, leaning down so their faces are close, backlit by a fire that seems to be feeding off this strange, heady feeling in the air. "When I say that I'm not like your grandfather, I mean that I'm _worse_ ," he murmurs. “More dangerous. Hungrier.”

He’s a clipped breath away from her, his eyes boring into hers like she’s a fixed point and he’s adjusting his compass to her.

"And if I want to save your life, I will," he murmurs. "And there's not a damn thing you can do to stop me."

She stares at him, so close and so warm and beautiful, and she knows she should sprint from the room, flee from the intensity that scorches off of him, but _gods_ she wants to fall into him. The effort of fighting this strange pull between him, the bone-deep longing for that feeling that only he has ever given her, seems suddenly overwhelming.

How did he do it? How did he know that this wanting feeling is the only type of temptation she couldn't resist?

"I don’t trust you," she whispers, straightening so that she’s that much closer. 

She lifts a shaking hand to his face, letting the pad of her thumb run across his jaw that way that he'd done to her, letting her fingers brush the faint stubble on his chin. He closes his eyes and lets out a low noise, and she _understands_ what he means. 

Touching him feels good the way that fighting him feels good. There's that sense of heightened awareness, of danger and correctness and impossibility.

"You cruel thing," he murmurs, his eyes flickering open again, lingering on her mouth. “I think it would be a pleasure to owe you my life.”

She’s about to reply, when a knocking at her door interrupts them. They freeze, suddenly conscious of just what they're _doing_. Her, sprawled on the carpet, half-dressed and practically _begging_ for kiss, nearly high on the heady feeling of his Force energy singing in her body. 

He was right. He’s much worse. 

She gets to her feet, lunging for her crown on the table. 

The knock comes again, and Kylo gets up and crosses to her, standing right at her elbow as she tries to collect herself. 

"You expecting someone?" He says, his voice low and rough. 

"No," she says, sharing his anger. 

Very few people have right to knock on her door. 

Rey's hand twitches to the dagger at her thigh. Kylo watches, and his lip twitches. 

"Tell me that’s my dagger strapped to your thigh," he says, his voice just barely not-a-groan. 

He’s slipping off his suit jacket and with no warning, drapes it around her shoulders. It makes her feel a little better, somehow. 

So despite everything, she gives him a sly smile. "If you think I'm answering an unexpected knock at the door unarmed, you’re underestimating me. Anyway, it’s _my_ dagger. You gave it to me, and-" 

He kisses her the way lightning strikes. Quick and unexpected, throwing everything into sudden, stark contrast. 

That feeling, that same damn feeling from before, fills her up all at once as he presses her against the chair she's perched on. His mouth is hot and warm and she reaches up and grabs his fine white shirt just as fast, just as sharp. 

It’s her first kiss, and all at once she realizes tht there are sensations she knows nothing of, pleasures he can give her that she hadn’t foreseen. Wrapped in his arms, covered in the smell of him, It seems like a fairly major tactical risk on her part. 

But _what_ a risk. 

They pull away from each other, eyes wide. Kylo runs a hand through his hair, looking stunned. Rey puts a hand to her mouth, trying to hold the warm, intense feeling that he'd left there. 

The door raps again, loud and insistent.

"I'm-" Kylo says, and trails off like he’s not sure _what_ he is. 

“Let’s-” she says, but nothing comes. There’s only the knocking at the door and the imposible call of her duty. She gets to her feet, wooden and electrified as she walks to the door. 

Someone outside is saying, "your majesty, your _majesty_ " but Rey can't even identify the tone of voice. 

She's about to open it, when she turns around to see Kylo still standing there. A question forms in her mind, demanding an answer. Could that have been a fluke? Some kind of side-effect of him reviving her?

The question must be answered. Some things cannot rest. She charges back over to him, her face tilted up, her brow furrowed. 

“Rey-” he starts. 

When she kisses him, it is impulsive and heady and demanding. A test. 

The feeling comes back agaij, warm and hot, especially as his hands twine around her waist and a noise of surprised pleasure escapes him with a little _mmmm_ that she feels deep inside her. 

Kissing him is better than touching him, which is better than fighting him, which is better than looking at him. Which means that kissing Kylo Ren is the best thing so far. 

They pull away, both gasping. 

"Oh _hell_ ," Rey says, immediately annoyed. 

"Oh, yes," he growls, one hand still reaching for her like he wasn’t _quite_ done.

“Stay here,” she says, turning for the door and pulling it open before he can say anything else. 

Severn, flanked by two royal guards, is standing there.

"I need to speak to you," she says, dressed in a severe black gown with structural black sleeves and a thick choker around her neck. In the dark light of the hallway, her dathomirian tattoos look especially severe. 

“What is so important that you couldn’t approach me _properly,_ ” Rey snarls, incensed that Severn of all people would come here. It’s well past visiting hours, nearly dinner time. 

Severn gives her a cutting smile and takes a step back. There, held by the upper arm between two imperial guards, is Marth, her head bowed and her eyes red with tears. 

There's a red welt on her cheek, and she's been crying. 

Rey inhales sharply. 

Severn's gleam of vicious pleasure is so sharp that Rey has the strong urge to grab the dagger at her hip and use it. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Rey snarls. "How dare you?" 

"Your little spider was in my chambers uninvited today," Severn says coolly. 

Marth lets out a little sob and doesn't meet Rey's eyes.

"I caught her trying to steal my jewelry-"

"I wasn't trying to steal anything," Marth insists, looking up with bright, fierce eyes. 

The guard holding her smacks Marth across the back of the head, making Marth whimper. Rey doesn't hesitate. She sends the guard flying backwards, his body crashing into the stone wall behind him. He grunts and Rey feels _nothing_ for him. Nothing.

"This is my affair. I will dispense the Emperor's justice and you have no business here. I command you to go," she barks. 

The other guard looks between his comrade on the ground and Rey's still-outstretched hand and makes a very smart decision when he bows and leaves, his associate hot on his heels.

Severn turns, her eyes narrowed. "I didn't tell them to hit her." 

Rey wonders if Severn is angry at the abuse, or just that the abuse wasn't at her specific command. 

"It makes no difference now, does it?" Rey snaps, beckoning her page forward and putting a gentle hand on her shoulder. Marth is making a valiant effort to stop crying. 

"My lady, I'm so sorry-" she whispers. Marth is trembling under Rey’s hand, and Rey has a very bad feeling about this. 

"I demand justice," Severn says, her flint back. 

Then Kylo Ren appears in the door and Severn's eyes go wide.

"Well," is all Severn says. “The rumors appear to be true.”

Rey turns to Kylo. "I told you-" 

"There's someone watching us from the end of the hallway," he says, with no attempt at civility. 

They all turn, but there's no one there. Still, when she reaches out with her senses, she can feel it too. Something watching. 

"Inside," Rey sighs. This might as well happen. 

When the doors to her chambers shut, Severn is standing by the fire, looking uncomfortable and displeased as she takes in Rey’s private sanctum. 

"Your chambers are smaller than I would have thought," she sniffs.

Marth glares at her and looks like she might speak, so Rey interjects.

"Marth, you sit. You will tell us the truth, you understand?"

Marth looks at Rey like someone about to be hanged. 

Surprisingly, Kylo speaks. "Just tell the truth, Marth."

Severn's back goes straight and she glares at Kylo. "This has nothing to do with you."

Rey gives Severn a nod, because she's right. This is Rey’s issue, Rey’s staff. Kylo arches a brow, but nods, leaning against the mantle in silent observation. 

"Marth, begin," Rey says. She should start with Severn, but…. 

Marth is reflexively crumbling a piece of embroidered fabric in her hands, her back very straight and her eyes red rimmed. 

"I can't."

"Marth," Rey snaps. "Don't be a damn fool." 

"I can't say anything," Marth insists, her voice resigned. 

That appears to be all the invitation Severn needs. "You were stealing from me, weren't you? My mother's jewelry-" 

"What would I do with Nightsister curses?" Marth says, her voice bright with anger. 

Severn leans forward. "You wanted to destroy them, just like the emperor-" 

Severn cuts off, perhaps realizing she's let something slip. 

Rey turns to Severn, seizing the sudden power shift. "Is anything missing? Can you prove she stole anything?"

"No, the little creature couldn't get her hands on anything before I caught her. But her trespass is enough. You know the Code."

"I wasn't there to steal," Marth says. 

"Then what _were_ you doing?" Severn says, exasperation winning out over pettiness. “Spying? Treason?”

Marth is silent. 

_Tell a lie,_ Rey is screaming in her head. _Make up a story._

"Were you delivering a message?" Rey suggests. 

Severn makes a disgusted noise. "Don't try and cover for her. I know a thief when I see one."

"Severn, isn't your page usually in the rooms? Can’t she vouch for Marth’s actions?" Rey says, digging through her memories. 

"No, because I sent Kotta away," Severn says, her voice going distant and cool.

Rey blinks. Nobody leaves the planet, certainly not servants. "Sent her where?"

"None of your concern," Severn says icily. "Your majesty."

Kylo interjects. "What happens if Marth continues to refuse to speak?"

Severn snarls, "She will be assumed guilty and sent to the dungeons-"

"I will take responsibility for Marth's punishment," Rey says coolly. 

Severn looks outraged. "You deny me the Emperor's justice?"

"Yes," Rey says, drawing herself up to her full height and daring Severn to say anything. 

She's conscious that she was half dead an hour ago, that she's wearing a dress meant only as a half-baked undergarment, and that she's still reeling from her first kiss, but she doesn't care.

Rey is a princess. Marth is Rey's concern. 

Severn weighs her options, her mouth twisting. "I expect repayment. With interest."

"What do you want?" Rey sighs. 

Severn flashes a smile. "You'll attend the dinner party I'm having in the south parlor tonight, and you will make sure that everyone in the room thinks we are wonderful friends and allies."

Rey blinks. She's not really _supposed_ to share a meal with other courtiers. She dines alone, or with her grandfather. Sometimes she will be invited to share a meal with the Emperor and his guests, but this is... 

"Why would you _want_ that?"

Severn clenches a fist. "Are you blind? He's here now,” she hisses, gesturing at Kylo, “Which means that everything is about to change. I can't afford to look weak in front of the court, and you're the closest thing I can get to power. So, you will show up and you will wear one of your most expensive dresses and make nice."

Once she says it, Rey feels stupid for not having guessed. Of course Severn is nervous. The political winds are changing, and for someone without the security of a blood relationship, that can only be a bad thing.

"Can I come?" says Kylo. 

They turn and look at him. He shrugs. "What? I'm curious."

Severn looks suspicious. "It's only a small gathering. Senator Syndion, a few of the new academy professors, Moff Vellian, you know, the usual set. Are you sure you _want_ to?" 

Kylo sets his jaw and says, "I insist."

Severn literally throws her hands up. "Fine. Come along. Bring your scheming insect of a page while you're at it. I literally don't care, just show up and pretend to like me so that nobody tries to poison me."

"Alright," Rey says. There will be further repayment. Rey knows that. But for now, she will take the deal. 

Severn relaxes, but only slightly. "And you will discipline your little monkey?"

Marth pulls a face behind Severn's back and Rey glares at her. 

"You have my word."

Severn nods. "Then I will see you this evening in the south parlor. Mind you arrive on time. And I expect a _very_ pretty hostess’s gift."

When Severn leaves the room, there's a beat of silence as Rey collects herself. There's a thin veneer of calm that she's clinging to, a sense of normalcy and sanity that is rapidly crumbling.

"My lady," Marth starts.

"How dare you," Rey says, her voice low and dangerous even to her own ears. Suddenly, she’s _furious_ at her page for the incredible, stupid risk she took. "Marth, what were you thinking? How could you do something so stupid? To Severn of all people? You put us both in danger, and for what?"

Marth looks down at her hands. 

"No," Rey barks. "No, you will look me in the _eyes_ and tell me just what you're doing that is worth the amount of danger you brought upon both of us today."

Marth's jaw works. She opens her mouth and then shuts it again.

"My lady, I can't."

"Then you forfeit the trust I placed in you," Rey snaps. 

Marth flinches. 

Rey knows she's being hard on the girl, but what Marth has done today could have gotten her killed. Nothing could have saved her from a night spent in the dungeons with a hideous monster that literally feasts on dreams except Rey insisting on Imperial prerogative, and even _that_ might not be enough if her grandfather intercedes.

"My power is limited, Marth. Severn had the _imperial_ guard with her, do you know what could happen if they choose to report this to their master? What could happen to both of us?" 

Marth's lips tremble. "Yes. I am so deeply sorry, your majesty. I was trying to be careful. I never meant to hurt you."

"Go back to your room and lock your door. Don't let anyone in or out, you understand?" This next part is painful, and Rey pinches the bridge of her nose. "Your duties will be restricted from now on. I am removing your access to my comms. And I will dress _myself_ for the evening."

Marth begins to cry again, stumbling to her feet. "But Severn said a good dress, you need help with the buttons-"

"I will call upon someone who I trust to put their hands near my _throat_ ," Rey murmurs, hating herself a little. But the plain, honest truth is that if Marth is going around committing acts of domestic treason, she cannot be allowed into Rey's inner circle. It's too dangerous for both of them. 

Marth sinks back onto the chair, looking a little stunned. The red mark on her cheek flushes red. 

A long silence. Marth looks like she can’t quite believe it, and Rey wants to get on her knees and _shake her._ Let me help you, tell me what’s wrong, I can’t help you if I don’t know- 

A new thought strikes her. 

"Who was it? Who struck you?" Rey says suddenly. 

Marth looks up. "Oh. The same guard who hit me in front of you."

Rey draws in a deep breath and gives Marth the only gift she can. "Then I swear to you that will make him regret it." 

Marth gives Rey a weak smile. "Thank you, my lady."

Rey lifts her hand and very gently puts her hand on Marth’s cheek. The girl looks up at her, looking startled at the unexpected intimacy, but Rey thanks the Known Gods that her sweet, foolish page doesn’t flinch from her touch.

Rey inhales deeply and thinks of what Kylo had said about tapping into the Force. She thinks about every time Marth has laughed, about how her cheeks go pink when she’s embarrassed, how she loves silks and buttons, how generous she is with what little she has. 

Tears prick Rey’s eyes, and Rey sends a shiver of light from her hand into Marth, imagining it healing her cheek, lessening the blow. It feels sharp, but not painful. Marth gasps, and behind her she feels Kylo take a step forward. Rey blows out a shaky breath and pulls her hand back from Marth’s cheek, letting the feeling flow out of her.

Such a little thing, and yet so enormous. 

“My lady- what-” Marth gasps, her hand flying to the undamaged skin of her cheek. 

Rey leans down so they’re eye to eye. “Don’t tell a soul. Don’t open your door. I will send for you tomorrow. You understand?”

Marth swallows, and nods. “Yes, my lady.”

“Kylo,” she says, turning around.

He’s staring at her, his eyes wide, his lips parted. It’s such a searing look that for a second it feels like they’re alone again, clawing towards each other in front of the fire. 

“Would you walk Marth to her room?” Rey says. “See that no one stops her.”

He closes his mouth.

“Marth, would you give the princess and I a moment?” 

Marth looks to Rey, who nods and says, “Wait outside the door.” 

With that, her page scurries from the room, bowing low before leaving. 

And then they’re alone again. Kylo turns to her, his expression awestruck. 

She gives him a shaky smile, feeling the absurd impulse to laugh. It’s so awful, so horrible, that she might as well. “I did it,” she mumbles. “Just like you helped me.”

It takes him two strides to cross to her, and then he’s kissing her. His arm twines around her waist, drawing her up onto her toes and kissing her so that she bends backwards, gripping his jacket just so she isn't knocked over. 

This kiss is less of a lightning strike and more of a roll of thunder, growly and deep and very slow. When she pulls away from him, he looks down at her with gentleness on his face.

“I’ll get her to her rooms.”

“Thank you,” she says, conscious that disentangling their bodies feels strange now. “Will you come back? I, uh, really will need help with the buttons.”

His gaze goes darker. But all he says is, “I am at your command, highness," before he slips out of the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (If you are worried I'm going to do Severn dirty, let me reassure you that She Has Her Reasons for the stuff she's doing and also she gets an arc and we'll get into it!!!!) 
> 
> Here's the [ inspo for Rey's outfit and Severn's outfit](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites/status/1229971675233558528) in this chapter. Aaaand [here's how I was imagining Kylo.](https://imgix.bustle.com/rehost/2016/9/13/e3960346-c134-4021-a5d0-db4a2165e795.jpg?w=970&h=546&fit=crop&crop=faces&auto=format&q=70&dpr=2)
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd appreciate a comment here on Ao3 or a follow [my Twitter account.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates. 
> 
> Hope you have a good week!


	9. 9

* * *

**CHAPTER 9  
  
**

* * *

  
  


Before Kylo returns to her chambers, she faces the fire and trying to steel herself for the ordeal of the evening.

This is going to be unpleasant. The sooner she makes peace with that fact, the better. Severn is going to jab at her in front of people, Kylo is going to make her want to do things she shouldn't, and there is probably going to be some kind of fire or other act of chaos, because everything else has gone to hell today, so why not? 

Although, all things considered, maybe this is better than sitting in her room brooding over Marth. 

The sound of the door opening disturbs her troubled thoughts, but she only turns her head. 

Turning all the way around feels too intimate, somehow. She feels safer with him at her back. But she turns her head, letting the sight of him filter in her peripherals.

He just stands at the door, his face dimly lit by the waning fire and his eyes coming to rest on the sliver of exposed skin at the back of her neck. 

The dress she's chosen is a deep, blood red velvet number that goes all the way to the floor. The sleeves drag on the ground when she has her arms down, but when she extends them out the fabric hangs straight down, as if imitating bird wings. The bodice has a gold trim that forms a sharp v at her waist, directing attention up towards the square cut neckline. 

It’s a brutal dress, structured and expensive and heavy, and wearing it usually feels like putting on armor. Except for now, when all Kylo Ren seems to notice is the last few buttons undone at the top. 

"The gown is... a lot," she concedes. "But Severn said she wanted prestige. This is my best dress."

Honestly, that might not be true. Rey’s never really used currency, so she doesn't know how much it would cost to buy. But it _looks_ like her best dress. 

His lips twitch. "It's certainly fine. Is it to your taste?"

She glances down, unsure how to answer him. She doesn't really know _what_ she likes. Marth always helped her pick clothes out, and before that Rey just wore whatever was easiest to put on.

_She'd liked his jacket around her shoulders._

"Will you help me with the back?" She says, annoyed at her own thoughts. She’d done so much work to calm herself down. 

Kylo nods, crossing to her in a few strides. When he’s at her back, his nimble fingers go to the complicated series of snaps and buttons. He fumbles on the first few, struggling with the fussy things. 

Marth always hated this gown for the buttons. 

"We need to be at the south parlor in twenty minutes. Did you see Marth safely to her room?" 

"Yes. She's pretty torn up," he murmurs.

Rey scowls into the fire. "Good. She needs to have a good long think about what she did if she wants to survive here." 

"Severn has it out for her?" Kylo guesses. 

A spasm of guilt wracks her. 

"No," Rey sighs. "Severn has it out for me. Marth got caught in the crossfire.” It becomes immediately apparent that this subject has to change. “Are you sure you want to come tonight? It will be petty. And boring."

He chuckles. "Might make a nice change. I’ll go."

Rey holds very still as his hands move up the back, faster now as he gets the rhythm of it. 

"Kylo, about before," Rey murmurs. 

"You're going to tell me we shouldn't do it again," he says. 

Rey sighs. "I think we shouldn't do it again." 

"Why?" His voice is very patient. Inexorable.

"Because it's” - indulgent, distracting, delicious “-dangerous."

"Passion is said to fuel the dark side," Kylo says, and the pad of his finger brushes the skin at the top of her spine. _Oh._

"That's... a compelling argument," she murmurs. 

He leans his head forward, and she can feel his breath against her neck and the places where his dark hair just barely brushes against the skin. 

He murmurs, "Rey. Didn't anyone ever tell you that you can have everything you want?" 

"No one has _ever_ said that to me," Rey mumbles, feeling the sense of him all over her, though he’s barely touching her. "And I can't afford a dalliance."

"Who said anything about dallying?" 

And he presses a kiss onto her left shoulder. = 

"You don't understand the risks," Rey says, feeling prickles running down her spine where his mouth lingers. It feels _obnoxiously_ nice. 

"I'm prepared to risk them," he mumbles against her. 

"If people found out I had such a- such a terribly cliche weakness- there'll be an even bigger target on my back," she says, tilting her head down, pulling her hair around to expose more of her neck to his mouth. 

"Then I'll watch it," he mumbles, his hand reaching up to skim her shoulder, grazing the sensitive flesh. Rey shivers. "I'll watch your back."

"I think you just want to get me _on_ my back," she whispers, her eyes flickering shut. 

"No comment."

With a little shake of her head, she steps away from him. 

Kylo lets out a groan of muted protest, but stops when she turns around to face him.

“Nice dress,” he says. 

A war of indecision rages in her head. If she gives into this, then there will be yet another vulnerability in her armor, another hole that can be poked at with sharp sticks. Marth is a big enough weakness, and look how that has been going. Beginning some kind of affair seems like she’s _asking_ for someone to find newer, more visceral ways to torture her emotions. 

No one has yet been able to manipulate her by hurting someone she feels romantic love for. It’s the _one_ angle of her world that isn’t a weakness. She loves no one. Not like _that_ , anyway. 

“I won’t insult you by denying that we have chemistry. I feel it. Some kind of strange... attraction.”

“Magnetism,” he corrects, his eyes slipping up the gold trim of her bodice. Taking all of her in.

“There are some risks I can't take," she says, helplessly. "Even if I might like to."

He looks up at her with his jaw set. “What risks _would_ you take?” 

Rey’s breath catches. 

"If I asked you to leave with me right now, would you?”

“Kylo-”

"If I told you I had some secret ship stowed away somewhere, you'd fight me to stay here, wouldn't you?"

There's a hard edge in his voice. A buried frustration, or maybe even some kind of threat. If this is a test, he’s easily the most effective inquisitor they’ve sent.

Rey glowers at him. "That’s a deeply cruel thing to ask. You know the position I'm in. You know how powerful my grandfather is, or at least you're beginning to."

“Why? Why cling to what hurts you?” 

Rey goes very still, trying to think of the right thing to say. 

"Kylo," she murmurs. "If you took me away from here, he'd find me. There would be nothing either of us could do. He'd drag me back here and lock me in a dungeon and it would be so, so much worse."

"You don't know that," he snaps. 

Rey counts to three before replying, feeling the shadows of old wounds flare up in her mind. Kylo’s expression shifts. For an instant he looks pained, like her silence has said everything. But she lets him hear it from her own lips anyway. 

"Yes," she whispers. "Kylo, I do."

He holds her gaze, his mouth working. There's a long silence. 

She says, "You don't really have a ship out there, do you?"

He sighs heavily. "No. I don't."

Would she be able to tell if he was lying? Part of her (the part of her that thinks he's beautiful, that thinks that it would be a pleasure to lay back on a soft cushion with him, that wants to gently lift off his fine shirt and run her hands down his chest) thinks she knows him well enough now to tell when he’s lying. 

But the other part of her (the one that very much wants to live) knows that she’d be a damn fool to trust anyone capable of betraying in cold blood the master he served for years. 

"Kylo," she murmurs, looking down at her hands. "The years that I have left... I want them. I don't want to suffer any more than is inevitable. Please understand that. Put any ideas of, I don't know, dragging me back to some cave somewhere out of your mind."

Unexpectedly, his lips twitch. "My _cave_?" 

She rolls her eyes, relieved that he has tacitly consented to returning to their version of normal. "If you want to help me, then the best thing you can do for me is to follow my lead and keep your head down."

"That's what you want?"

"That, and for you to put your jacket back on so you don't embarrass me in front of my enemies."

His eyes soften, his mouth quirking at one corner, and Rey feels a little starburst of pleasure in her chest that he liked her joke. That he understood it. 

Wordlessly, he reaches a hand out towards her. She chooses to believe that he's asking for the jacket, not for her hand. 

* * *

They walk together through the dark palace corridors of the Great Hall. It's a festive evening, and the glow lights embedded into the floors and ceilings radiate a warm, yellow incandescence onto the cold stone walls. 

Someone has placed scores of small, rough-hewn Kyber crystals in the hall. They’re too cloudy and crude to be used as power sources, but they make very pretty light fixtures. As Rey and Kylo approach them, their light swells with flickering intensity.

Ahead of them, spidery music spills out of the double doors leading into the south parlor. It’s a huge room designed for senior level social functions, and Severn must have pulled some serious strings to book it.

"Why's it called a parlor?" He mumbles, tilting his head down to hers.

"It's a casual reception room for light refreshments," she says, though that seems like an understatement for the decadent event Severn seems to have put on. It’s obvious that Severn had undersold her “dinner party.”

Kylo seems to consider her words. 

"Why does he bother keeping a court? Seems expensive, feeding and housing all these people in the style they were accustomed to on the Core Worlds," Kylo says as they amble towards the open double doors of the parlor. 

People mill outside, drawn by the music and the extended curfew. As they approach the lights increase in strength, throwing their long shadows behind them. 

"I think," Rey murmurs, her voice too low for anyone to hear. "That he's trying to keep us busy. Make us run frantic circles to keep favor and power so that no one has the energy to overthrow him."

Kylo arches a brow, but says nothing as they get close to the double doors. When he slips his arm around her waist, Rey rolls her eyes and stops their slow stroll. Grabbing his arm, she maneuvers his body so he’s holding it out properly, bent at the elbow and extended a little. 

He mutters at her as she fusses with him, “I think I liked it better when you were only trying to _stab_ me.”

“Hush,” Rey says, tucking her arm into his, which seems to silence the retort he’d been about to say. 

They make a good pair, and she knows the effect will be just the striking image Severn wanted. The way her long sleeves contrast with the black of his jacket. Liking the way his forearms feel against her fingers.

He pulls her a little closer and she rolls her eyes, putting his hand back to a courtier hold. "Do it properly. Honestly, aren't you a senator's son? What would she say about your terrible etiquette?"

It is the wrong thing to say. His back goes ramrod straight, but it's too late to address it, because the attendants have seen them and are pushing the double doors open, letting the warm glow of the parlor spill out towards them. The music seems to swell as the clerk announces in a stiff formal voice that "her majesty the princess and his majesty Kylo Ren" have arrived.

They're immediately the center of the universe. Every head turns. 

Severn has decorated the parlor red silks covering the walls and a huge iron chandelier suspended from the center of the room. Instead of the fireplaces, she has placed four enormous, rough-hewn Kyber crystals around the room, allowing for plenty of secretive shadows and velvety edges to slip into. 

Severn appears, immaculate in a simple black bodysuit with sheer cloak. Rey realizes belatedly that it looks very like a dress she'd worn a few days earlier, only fashioned into a tailored and masculine version. 

"Majesty," Severn says, crossing. 

Rey gives her what she hopes is a friendly and conspiratorial smile. "Severn, darling. Thank you for inviting me."

Severn laughs with sharp brightness.

"Well, when you asked for an invite, I said to myself, 'I would certainly never deny her majesty entrance into an event of mine.'" 

Rey sincerely hopes that Severn can't hear the sound of Rey's fist clenching in her sleeve. 

A new voice interjects. "Ah, there she is," says Anders Vellian, dressed in his well-cut uniform and his pale hair brushed neatly back at the temples. His pale blue eyes warm when he takes her in. 

He gives her a little bow, and Rey dips her head respectfully. 

"And Kylo my boy," says Vellian, giving Kylo a smile that is fractionally less warm. "How interesting to see you without the mask. I hardly recognize you." 

Kylo says nothing, which seems to suit Anders just fine. He turns his pale blue eyes on Rey. 

"Your majesty, if I might steal you away for a moment? I had a few questions about my upcoming event that I could use your assistance with."

Severn gives Anders a dry smile. "Surely we're not going to discuss business at a social gathering."

"Forgive me, Severn, but her majesty's time has been much occupied of late. I'm afraid I can't waste the opportunity to get her alone."

"Rey," says Kylo, his voice bored. "Surely you've got better things to discuss than _party_ planning."

Rey studiously doesn't react. "Anders, perhaps we could take a turn around the room?"

Anders is looking at Kylo, his expression cool but not offended at the naked contempt buried in Kylo's bored tone. The two men are an interesting contrast. Where Kylo seems to be a tightly controlled explosion, Anders is cool all the way to the core. 

"Of course," Anders says, extending his arm in a gesture of extreme politeness. Rey takes his arm, watching the way everyone in the room registers the honor she's doing Anders by deigning to touch him.

Rey is conscious that Kylo's eyes follow her as she and Anders walk together into the room. Vellian smells like something arctic. An evergreen smell that is crisp like outside air. Maybe that's what she likes about him. He always makes her feel faintly refreshed. 

Anders glances at her, his eyes searching hers. "I apologize for the liberty," he murmurs. "But I had to speak with you."

Rey gives him a smile. "I gathered as much. What is it? Not your name day celebration, surely?"

Anders is leading her towards one of the kyber crystals in the corner, and Rey enjoys the way the cluster of people who had been standing there make the wise decision to absent themselves. Nobody in their right mind would get between a powerful general, a the Sith princess, and a secluded place to scheme. 

"No," Anders says, beckoning at a nearby human servant to approach with her tray of drinks. "Though I do hope you're still planning on attending."

Rey nods. "Of course."

"I admit, I was surprised to see you here. Don't you and Severn enjoy a fiesty rivalry?"

"We'd have to be playing the same game to be rivals," Rey says, glancing over her shoulder to see how Kylo is reacting to all this. But the crowd of people have swallowed him up. 

The silk-clad servant silently offers them both a crystal filled with pale red liquid, and Rey accepts the flute that Anders hands to her. 

Anders gives her a fond smile. "You remind me of a little snake when you talk like that."

Rey takes a sip. It tastes acrid and bitter and very satisfying.

"Well, you always did like dangerous things."

Anders drinks from his own glass, his expression cooling just slightly as he says, "True. But I never thought you _shared_ my predilections." 

Rey blinks at him. "What?"

"Your young man," Anders says. "Quite a viper, or so I hear." 

Rey drinks again as Anders continues. "Do you know what the First Order did to the Hosnian system?"

Rey remembers again the books waiting for her in the Archives, cursing her own ignorance. 

"Anders, tell me this isn't a fatherly lecture about what kind of person I should trust," Rey says, hoping her voice sounds light and bored. "Because we both know I don't trust anyone."

Anders looks her in the eyes. "There's nothing fatherly about my feelings regarding your safety."

There's something heated in his expression, some intensity she can't - or won't- interpret. It reminds her of Severn. And it reminds her of Kylo. 

"Anders," Rey says warningly. 

His eyes have the same bright sharpness of the drink. 

"He's dangerous to you."

Rey relaxes. "Oh. Of course he is. I know that."

"Then why do you act like you trust him?" Anders murmurs. 

"Because the Emperor trusts him," Rey corrects. "And we both serve his pleasure. Or had you _forgotten_ that little fact in your haste to scold me for doing my duty?"

It's a petty jab. But Rey doesn't like what he's implying. If Vellian dislikes Kylo, he has far more outlets to threaten him than Rey does. Almost as many as the Emperor, in fact. If Vellian has spent his days leading the construction of the fleet, he has spent his _nights_ earning favors from every being in the court. 

Anders hesitates, his broad shoulders stiff and the light from the crystal throwing him into contrast. There's a tension in his jaw that she's not used to. Anders has always been a jovial, even flirtatious presence in her life. Someone safe. He seems very different, tonight. 

After a long pause, he looks down into her eyes again. 

"There isn't an easy way to ask you this. Did the Emperor order you to seduce him?"

Rey nearly spits out her drink. 

"Anders," she hisses. The kyber crystal dims slightly, like a flame in strong wind. A few people turn their heads, revealing their own eavesdropping with an amateur mistake. Or maybe they can feel her sudden stress. Rey turns away from him, hiding her face. "If you ever say something like that to me again-"

"Princess, please," Anders murmurs, dipping his head. "We only have minutes. I've been playing this game longer than you have. You must know what your grandfather is capable of."

Would answering his question make him think he had the right to ask it in the first place? Would storming off in an elegant huff confirm his suspicions? Or should she lie, tell him that she was ordered to seduce Kylo Ren, tell him that she jumped at the task, that she'd do _anything_ to _anyone_ to secure her place here? 

The sudden uncertainty reminds her that for all his light flirting, for all the books and sweets and kind words, she does not trust Anders Vellian. 

"Is that what they're saying about me?" Rey says, feeling a flush of anger fill her body. It's not like she hadn't guessed this would happen. "That I'm Kylo Ren's whore?"

" _No one is saying that_ ," Anders says, his voice a heated murmur. "I wouldn't lie to you about that. People are saying you're both some kind of dark side dynamic duo, they think that the Emperor will send you both out to conquer the galaxy in his name. I think most of them are hoping that you'll end up killing each other."

Rey calms a little at that, but only slightly. "But you know better."

Anders hesitates. Rey wishes that Kylo would appear. That he'd show up at her side and say something casually cruel to Anders Vellian. 

"Rey, you must know what your hand in marriage would mean to any of his supporters. What he could gain by attaching you to an ally of his. If he wanted to attach Kylo Ren to his side forever-"

Rey takes a tiny step back as a sudden wave of fear floods through her. She should have anticipated this. Should have thought that this was something that people thought about, that people knew. But she's blindsided, filled with dread in a way that she doesn't understand. 

It's not like this would be worse than any other way she has been made to know suffering. 

But marriage, to Kylo or anyone else, would mean forming some kind of twisted, dark family. It might even mean children, and gods knows that she doesn't want to bring a child into a world that allows someone like her grandfather to exist. The idea gives her strength, like her revulsion is carrying her up and out of her body to a world five feet above this one, where she doesn't have to feel or think or hurt or even breathe. 

"Why would you think that-" Rey says, her voice barely audible. 

Anders looks her dead in the eye. "Call it an educated guess."

Somehow, she feels like it isn't. 

"The emperor never told me to seduce Kylo. I _didn't_ seduce him. We're friends," she murmurs.

"Friends, huh?" Anders says. His eyes flit to something behind her, and Rey would bet anything that he's looking for Kylo. "So if I kissed you right now, your _friend_ wouldn't punch me in the jaw?" 

Rey abruptly falls back into her own body, so annoyed that she's forced to experience her feelings again. 

"Why is everyone asking me these weird hypotheticals today?" Rey hisses. 

Anders sets his jaw, his brow furrowed in a very un-Anders way as he lowers his voice to a serious murmur.

"Is he worthy of the privilege of your trust?"

"I _don't_ trust him," Rey hisses. And then stops. It was more than she meant to admit. She takes a steadying breath. There's a reason to everything Anders done, and where he's concerned, she doesn't believe in coincidences. "Why are you asking me this?" 

Anders frowns even deeper. "I only ask you to be careful. You know how cutthroat the court can be, how dangerous the emperor is. You know that better than anyone, I think." 

Anders leans closer. "But Kylo? We don't know who he is or what he wants. He says he's here for the Emperor's power. Are you sure that's _all_ he's here for?"

"Anders. Drop it. This isn't the place for this conversation." 

"Then when? I can never talk to you alone, anymore. He's always around. Except..." Anders says, glancing around the room. "Except for right now. Where has he snuck off to, I wonder?"

The tone of his voice fills her with profound unease. 

"Anders, I am going to turn around and walk back to Severn so I can get this farce of an evening over with. If you're quite done fishing for information, you may fetch me a glass of mineral water, as I suddenly have a bad taste in my mouth."

He meets her gaze, but doesn't flinch from it. "I'm sorry to upset you. But I care about you. I always have. It's important that you know that." 

What would a normal person call the emotion in his eyes? Affection? Tenderness? It's out of place and unexpected. He gives her a fond smile and shakes his head. "Good evening, princess."

And then he's gone. 

For the first time in what feels like years, Rey is standing alone. 

"What in the known realms was that?" She mumbles to herself.

Bereft of any better ideas, Rey finishes her drink in two gulps. By the time the glass is empty, an idea strikes her. 

"Severn," Rey says into the empty air, knowing that that the Dathomirian always has a keen ear for what concerns her. True to form, Severn appears at her side within a minute, her eyes narrowed as she glances from Rey to the retreating form of Anders Vellian striding across the room.

"Severn," Rey says. "Was it Anders who asked you to invite me to this event?"

Severn doesn't react at all. "No. Well, he _did_ mention in a casual way that he was seeking an audience with you alone."

Rey hands her glass to a passing servant to avoid touching the knife at her thigh. 

"What did he offer you? To get me by myself?"

 _Where the hell is Kylo?_ It's odd how keenly she feels his absence. Like she's left one shoe behind and half of her is touching the raw earth with all its uncomfortable angles. 

Severn's tip tilted eyes sharpen. "Surely you don't think me such a fool as to take a bribe from a Moff of all people. But since we're talking about bribes, I've thought of another way to pay back the debt you owe me."

"Oh?" 

"I need your assistance regarding my page."

Rey stiffens, and Severn laughs a brittle little laugh and says, "A page for a page. Fitting, isn't it?"

"What is it you want me to do to your page?"

Severn looks down at the glass of liquid in her hands. Her manicured fingers look like claws. When she speaks again, her voice is unexpectedly quiet. Not quiet like Anders Vellian and his velvet tread, but quiet like nighttime after a hard cry. 

"She's sick." 

"What did you do to her?" Rey says reflexively, trying to remember what Severn's page looks like. Her name is Kotta. She's around Marth's age, but with a little less of Marth's trusting sweetness and a lot more sharpness in her eyes. 

Severn glares at her. "I wouldn't hurt the girl." 

There's a note of genuine offense in her voice. 

"Is it an illness then?" Rey murmurs. "Or was she attacked?"

Severn swallows, her hostility evaporating again. "She ran afoul of a Sith artifact."

Rey blows out a long breath. "Ah. I see. Where is she now?"

"I've hidden her in a downstairs maintenance room," Severn says, her voice just barely audible as she waves away a servant passing canapés around. 

"Why not put her in the infirmary?" Rey murmurs.

Across the room, she suddenly catches sight of Kylo emerging from behind a column near the door. Her heart does a clenching, painful thing in her chest and Rey suddenly wishes she had another drink in her had. He's striding over to her. 

Severn's voice is faintly ragged at her side. "Nothing they've done to treat her has helped. It's only getting worse. They're going to realize that it's not an ordinary injury and when they do, they'll know there's nothing they can do for her. I can't let her become superfluous."

Rey understands immediately. If Severn's page has a Sith illness, there's nothing ice baths and stringent antiviral medications can do. 

Kylo is almost on them. "Tell me where to find her. I'll see what I can do."

Severn grips Rey's arm. "You'll cure her, or I'll never forgive you."

"There might be nothing I can do for her."

"Then the debt won't be paid," Severn hisses. 

Exasperated and anxious, Rey says, "Severn, you can't-"

"Rey," says Kylo. His face is serious, his expression dark. He reaches her, rudely shoving Severn out of the way and grabbing Rey by the arm. With a shove that isn't gentle, he shuffles her towards the door.

"Kylo," Rey snarls, elbowing him in the side, not caring that people can see. "What-"

"No time. We need to leave," he growls. "Now."

_Can she trust him?_

Rey finds herself looking up into his face, which is intent and serious. Her eyes flit behind him, to the space over his shoulder. Anders is striding forward now, his face alive with concern. Severn is hot on his heels, her expression arctic _._

Rey pushes herself out of Kylo's grip, not caring that the people around them have fallen into a hushed silence. Not caring about anything, really, but the look on his face and the way that he seems to be silently begging her for something. But that's what he's like, isn't it? Arriving out of nowhere, upsetting everything, ruining carefully laid plans and ignoring the complicated webs of debt and repayment and fear that rule everything that touches her. 

_What are you hiding?_

"Trust me," Kylo says, his eyes boring into hers. He holds out his arm, bent at the elbow like a real Sith courtier even as his eyes flare with a need that feels like nothing she's ever seen in this court or anywhere else. 

_I don’t want you to leave me alone here._

With trembling fingers, she reaches out and threads her arm through his. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PLEASE LOOK AT THESE AMAZING MOODBOARDS: 
> 
> Archi, I am [ DYING AT HOW BEAUTIFUL THIS IS.](https://twitter.com/starwarswifts/status/1230843688927948800)
> 
> And [Lindsi oh my GODDDD I love this!!](https://twitter.com/donegan_who/status/1230021907938004994)  
> 
> 
> Also: [Jordan made the SITH MINERAL WATER that Anders goes to get Rey](https://twitter.com/jordoofus/status/1232819242426236928) and it's so funny I can't physically breathe  
> 
> 
> Severn's ["Don't Talk To Me I'm Bisexual and Busy"](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites/status/1232833119817994240) pantsuit.  
> Rey's [ "I Am Extremely Important & Rich"](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites/status/1232833307278266369) Dress.
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd appreciate a comment here on Ao3 or a follow [my Twitter account.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates. 
> 
> Hope you have a good week!


	10. 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for typos, I haven't done a careful copy pass

* * *

**CHAPTER 10**

* * *

They make it out of the double doors, Kylo still halfway dragging her as he says something too quietly for even Rey to hear. They spill out in an expensive drag of brushed flannel and shot brocade into the world of stony darkness beyond.

In the ensuing silence, she can finally hear what he’s saying. 

"-imperial guard came rushing out of your room, I think they were looking for Marth, they must be on their way to her room by now-"

Rey curses in fluent, slangy smuggler's cant, gripping Kylo by his forearm and relying on him to keep moving forward as fear sweeps through her body like a low pressure system moving down a mountainside. 

And if the Imperial guard is coming for Marth, there's only one place they'll be taking her. 

Cold panic fills her body as she imagines her sweet, gentle page facing down the Sithspawn abomination that lives underneath the palace. Marth is defenseless, has barely even held a sword, and her mind is as soft and delicate as a piece of shadow paper. 

If they don’t get to her, Marth will be destroyed. 

Rey starts to babble, almost incoherent with panic. "Kylo- we have to get her, we have to save her-"

He turns, not stopping his relentless stride, but looking down at her even as she digs her manicured nails into his skin. "Of _course_. We’ll get her, she’ll be okay, and then we’ll punish whoever did it."

She could kiss him. She _might_ have, too, if he wasn’t pulling them both through the hall at a punishing speed she’s just barely able to keep up with. 

"And you're sure it was the imperial guard?" Rey says, catching her steps. 

"Shiny helmets, ridiculous boots, can't miss 'em," he says, though his tone is deadly serious. "We don’t have long."

Hitching her skirt up to make moving easier, Rey lets her mind run ahead of her as they cross the huge room. Severn must have snitched, must have seized the chance to exact revenge on Rey for denying her the Emperor's justice. This would be just the thing to get back at Rey. Making someone under her protection suffer.

And of course, Severn was the one who invited Rey to the party, who surrounded her with hundreds of slightly-Force amplifying Kyber crystals that filled her with buzzy, distracting energy. 

"I'm going to gut her like a fish," Rey hisses to no one in particular. 

"Who?" Kylo says.

"You know what?" Rey hisses, changing her mind. "Everyone. Follow me."

* * *

Down, down, down. 

The labyrinth is the lowest level of the Palace, and as they take the stairs two at a time, her mood only darkens. 

Anger, hot and agitating, wars with the panic, and not even the steady exertion of descending a curving stone staircase at top speed is enough to burn off the panic. 

The stairs are lit only by flickering glow panels that surge and dim erratically, constantly responding by the unnatural Force energy that radiates from the labyrinth they're racing towards.

"Alright, so the thing down there is a Sithspawn," Rey explains. 

He nods, pushing his sleeves up and discarding his fine jacket over one shoulder without even looking at it. 

"What kind of Sithspawn?"

Figures that he'd be familiar with the concept. He's got more dark side training than she does, after all. 

Rey swallows, her fear climbing up her throat. She masters it.

"A new one. My grandfather has an alchemist," Rey says. 

Kylo gives her a sharp look. “What? How? I thought the Jedi killed them all.”

“The Jedi, it turns out, are not very good at eradicating groups of people,” Rey says. 

Kylo snorts, but it dies quickly as they descend down yet another level.

Rey tries to describe the beast.

"It's, some kind of- some kind of-I think it's some kind of Smoke Demon, but much taller. I think it walks on two legs, but sometimes on four." None of her descriptions can do justice by the hulking, unnatural thing that haunts the basement. "We just call it the creature," she finishes.

“What does it look like?” 

“I don’t know,” Rey says. “I’ve never seen it. There are no lights in there.”

Rey’s mind recoiling from imagining her page in there, fumbling in the pitch blackness, hunted in the dark and probably out of her mind with fear. 

“Of course there aren’t,” Kylo sighs. “Alright. Smoke Demons show you your worst fear, does this one do that?”

Rey's voice goes very quiet. The glowlights are getting steadily dimmer now, as if reflecting her emotions. 

"No. First it hunts you, theen when it touches you, it gives you the seed of a nightmare. It waits for you to fall asleep, and when you dream, it comes back to feast on the nightmare."

"That doesn't sound so bad?" Kylo says. 

"The nightmare is the worst thing you've ever felt. And,” she adds, knowing that she has to tell him about this to keep him safe, “If it happens to you too often, you go insane and claw your own face off," she mumbles, fumbling. "Or so I hear." 

Rey remembers the last person she'd seen who spent a few days in the labyrinth. He looked like something and chewed him up, clawed red welts into his skin with a blunt instrument. The alchemist, looking on in scientific curiosity, had leaned closer to her and told her that the disobedient scribe had done all the damage himself. _And isn’t that the most genius part of it?_

She’s lost to that memory, and she’s surprised when they’re suddenly at the bottom of the stairs, standing in front of a set of double doors fastened firmly shut, black darkness seeping out under the cracks like smoke. The floor is just rough hewn stone full of uneven and coarse. 

"When we get in there, just keep moving," Rey says, whispering without really meaning to. "Follow my lead. Don't let it touch you. I have a rough sense of how the maze works-"

"Of course it's a maze," Kylo snarls. "Couldn't just be a normal beast kept in a cage, no, _has_ to be a maze."

Rey crosses to the doors, her mind on autopilot as her courage wrestles her fear into a chokehold somewhere behind her eyes. 

"It's part of the punishment. To make you more afraid," she says absently.

"So we'll go in, find the center of the maze, get Marth and get out?"

"Yes. She'll be frightened out of her mind, but we might be able to get her in time."

“We don’t even have a weapon,” Kylo grumbles, but he doesn’t sound daunted. Just annoyed. “This was not the plan for the evening-”

With a tug of effort, Rey wrenches the doors to the maze open, and Kylo falls silent. Darkness spills like smoke from a burning room, and the glow lights flicker to the point of near extinction as their feet are lost to a thick, opaque dimness. 

Kylo looks from the door to Rey’s face. His expression is skeptical, but all he says is, "You got that lantern?"

By way of answering, Rey flicks the little light on and uses a heavy corset pin to fix it to her belt. The light cuts a swath of bright, sea green light through the darkness. 

Kylo nods. "Then I'm following you, princess."

She swallows against the tightness in her throat. And then walk into the dark.

Rey has been locked in this labyrinth only once, but it was enough. 

Her lantern illuminates the stone walls, uneven floors, dripping ceiling, and the puff of their breathing in the cold air as they walk quickly down the hallway. It still feels just as awful as she remembers, dark and wrong and filled with a chaotic sense of unease that sets her teeth chattering. 

“They can’t have taken her in too far,” Rey says. The guards hate being in here as much as everyone else, and they won’t have broken their habit on Severn’s account. 

With every turn and twist Rey's throat tightens, expecting to see the slim figure of her page in front of them. But Marth is nowhere, and they just keep walking deeper into the corridors in the freezing, silent darkness. 

Kylo stays close to her, his strides long and careful. "How do you know where we're going?"

"When I was here last, I left marks on the walls. I'm just going backwards, following the symbols," Rey murmurs, gesturing at the nearly invisible ticks and arrows etched into the walls in her childlike scrawl. 

She'd used her dinner spoon, marking the crumbling stone so that she could feel the marks with the pads of her fingers. It took her almost a full day to work it out, but she'd made it out. As far as she knows, her grandfather never knew about it. 

"He locked you up in here?" Kylo says, his voice harsh and way too loud. 

" _Shh_ ,” she says, swatting at him.

"How old were you?" He says, his voice _just_ as loud. 

"Eleven. We're close to the center now," Rey whispers. The air here feels even deader than before, as if even sound itself is trying to hide. Kylo is practically walking on top of her at this point. 

"Why did he even build a maze down here? Didn't he have bigger things to worry about?" Kylo says, annoyed. 

"It was here before we came here," Rey says absently, her heart hammering as they turn another corridor to reveal another empty, cold passageway. 

This is all wrong. Where is Marth? She should be here by now, or they should have at least heard her calling. Marth must _know_ that Rey would come for her.

Unless she’d been too harsh, unless she’d reached out and scorched the one dear heart that trusted her. 

“Marth,” Rey calls. Nothing. 

It’s a cruel truth that silence is occasionally more frightening than screaming. 

"What do you mean? Didn't he build it?"

It takes Rey a minute to even understand what Kylo is saying. 

"Oh, the palace. No, he didn’t build it. It's an ancient Sith structure. No one is exactly sure what it was. Maybe a Kyber mine, once.” 

"And he just built a castle into it?" He doesn’t wait for an answer. "I don't like any of this," he mutters, more to himself than anyone else. 

Rey ignores that, daring to raise her voice as the corridor begins to narrow, zigging and zagging unevenly as they get closer to the center. M 

"Marth," Rey hisses. "Marth are you there?" 

"Rey," Kylo says, coming to a sudden stop, his annoyance gone as he tugging her to his side. "Something's-"

The creature knocks into them so hard that for a moment the room seems to be filled with sparkling, bright light. And then she hits the wall. 

Her chest aches, her head rings. Kylo is struggling to his feet, yanking her upright, pulling her behind him- 

It rears up, and _this_ time they see it.

A monster. An abomination. It is patched up red flesh held together by vibrating Force alchemy, and the very world seems to be constantly rejecting it, revolting in energetic protest around it. The creature seems one heartbeat away from being pulled apart at the seams. 

They stand together, weaponless, with only a lantern for light, as it looms towards them, standing up on its back legs. It's easily twice as tall as Kylo, thick and banded with cords of muscles and watery eyes that blink rapidly as the darkness creeps towards them. 

The light from the holocron holds strong as they all freeze, the creature panting, growling, seething, but not _attacking_.

"I always wondered what it looked like," Rey whispers, fixed to the spot by the way it's looking at her. 

"Is it afraid of the light?" Kylo says, panting. It seems to come to her from a great distance as she drinks in the physical form of her childhood nightmare.

"No."

She doesn't question how she knows this. 

"You go left, I'll go right," he whispers.

“Wait,” Rey says, her heart pounding as the creature drops to all fours, moving like an insect towards them. It radiates a sick, wounded kind of violence. It mumbles to itself in a language Rey can't understand. 

Rey holds a hand out towards it.

“Nope,” Kylo barks. “Don’t feed the Sithspawn.”

And then he grabs her by the hand and pulls. 

And then they're running. Disoriented, weaponless, and choking on her fear, they sprint forward, the green circle of light skittering in front of them, landing on bones and smoke and uneven stone. 

"Why isn't it attacking?" Kylo barks.

"How should I know?" Rey calls back, leaping to avoid tripping on a piece of broken rock. 

“You were the one looking like you were going to reach out and _pet_ it,” he snarls.

The corridor forks, and there’s no time to check for a symbol. Rey follows an instinct. 

"Go left!" She barks, and for a moment she swears she can see herself, blind and frightened, a child wandering through the dark. 

There's an enormous noise behind them, a rough, distorted sound that might be a human coughing or a dog barking or a boulder rolling down a mountain side, but whatever it is, it is loud and angry and wet.

"Marth!" Rey bellows. "Now would be a really good time to announce yourself!"

Above them, pebbles rain down on their heads and something goes whooshing overhead in a skitter of claws on stone.

"Get down," Kylo barks, knocking her over and sending them both rolling onto the floor with a burn of flesh on stone. His body covers hers as a hailstorm of tiny rocks pelt them. The lantern goes flying, skittering to a clattering stop a meter away. 

“It climbed on the ceiling?” Rey shouts, lifting her head and locking eyes with the creature, a seething mass of its putrid flesh, watery eyes narrowing and widening as it crouches in front of them, blocking their path. 

For a moment, everything is perfectly still. The lantern gives her a clear view of its hateful, ugly face. 

_I know you._

Kylo raises himself up to a crouch, and Rey lifts herself up on her hands, bringing one foot forward between her hands as if preparing for a sprint. Her dress rips with a satisfying snarl of fabric. 

"You couldn't kill me last time," Rey whispers, her eyes fixed on its face. "I was a child and you couldn't kill me, and you can't kill us now. Yield," she commands it. "Yield and I will spare you."

It whines. It crouches. 

_It is so hungry, so terribly hungry._

Kylo presses a hand to his chest, feeling the same radiating, malevolent hunger that she is. The thing balances on its four feet, the strange hand-like paws digging into the stone. Rey holds one hand out. 

"You like nightmares? That's what you want?" She says, speaking softly as if to a frightened animal. 

It backs up, its wet gaze fixed on her head. Rey understands. It's the crown. It won't attack her while she's wearing the symbol of its master. The Sith court teaches few lessons to its creatures except an innate and bone-deep fear. 

If that lesson was beaten into her, then the Sithbeast in front of her certainly learned the same lesson. 

Rey lifts her crown off her head, holding it in two hands in front of her.

"This is what you want," she whispers. "Sate yourself, but give the girl to me."

It lunges forward, its breath a wet, raspy pant as it comes closer, towering above her even on all fours. Rey shoves Kylo back with the Force, strength filling her body like a great wind before he can try any clever ideas. 

The creature comes close enough that she can feel the powerful force of its foul breath, the weight of its vicious hunger as it paws at the ground, accepting her bargain. 

How it wants, how it _yearns_.

“It seems that I am still capable of pity,” she whispers, dropping to a crouch and setting the crown on its side. With a little push, she rolls it like a toywheel across the short distance between them. 

It looks like a metal plaything, skittering into the darkness. The Sithbeast lunges for the crown, drawn by the waft of insidious Sith energy that radiates off the thing like heat. The creature croons as it reaches the crown, closing its eyes and rubs its foul, odious face against the metal. 

Kylo makes an incoherent noise of disgust and horror.

Rey holds her breath, taking two steps back as that strange strength abandons her in the space of two heartbeats. 

“Kylo?” Rey whispers.

“Yes?” 

" _Run_." 

They sprint backwards, Rey hunting desperately for one of her way finding arrows until she orients herself again. After five more minutes of panicked running, they reach the beast's lair, a low ceilinged space lined with dirty staw. 

There she is. 

“Marth,” Rey cries, sprinting for the dark figure of her page, unmoving and wrapped in a blanket. Her bare feet nearly blue with cold. 

"Marth, Marth," Rey hisses, fumbling for her neck, checking for a pulse. There is one, but Marth doesn't wake, even as Rey shakes her. Hard. 

"Marth, damn it," Rey says, snarling in her page's unconscious face. 

"What's happening?" Kylo says. 

"I don't know," Rey says, panicked, trying to warm Marth's small hands in her own. "I don't know, I don't _know_." 

Rey tries to get a sense of her in the Force. Nothing. The shell shaped gleam of Marth’s Force signature is gone, and yet the girl is alive in front of her. 

"She's frozen, I can't find her," Rey babbles, choking on a fear so visceral it might be blood in her mouth. "Help me find her shoes- where are her socks- where- Kylo-"

“Let me,” Kylo says roughly, putting a hand on Marth’s temple. 

"Kylo, no," Rey says, realizing that he's about to try and reach her directly. "It will spread-" 

Too late. Kylo goes rigid, his eyes screwed shut and his jaw clenched as the thing that has its claws in Marth climbs from her body into his. 

Rey grips his shoulders, pulls him away from her, but it's too late. Kylo is as rigid as a dead man. And Rey is suddenly alone, surrounded by two people who are dead to the world, convicted by the grips of their own personal hells. 

The first course of business is to immediately fight off a panic attack.

"Okay," she says, breath coming hard. "One at a time. I can do this."

She starts with Kylo, knowing that if she can get him out of this place, he'll be able to help her save Marth, who has been deep in it the longest and will take much more work to free. 

Rey places two hands on Kylo's temples, but he doesn't even react. They don't have long. 

She's only done this trick a handful of times, and it was always for mundane reasons on people without much Force ability- checking to see if a certain person was in a certain room, sketching a quick glance at someone's mental state. She only skimmed, never dove in. 

But getting him back will require much more of a probe than she's ever tried before, the kind of invasive procedure she's always shunned for the pain it causes the recipient. Rey takes a deep breath, knowing there isn't much she can do that will cause him any more discomfort than he's already in.

Rey closes her eyes and pushes herself into Kylo Ren's mind. 

* * *

Someone has set him on fire. 

The inside of him is ablaze with heat and shame and anger and hatred and fear. It scorches her just to look at, the feeling echoing in her own body as she plunges deeper, scalded by this living nightmare.

His worst memories flit in front of her face, and it feels like they’re happening to her. 

She passes rooms full of shadowy men and women who reach out with claw-tipped fingers, hissing praise and condemnation and _Skywalker, Skywalker, Skywalker_ with their teeth bared. A woman shuts a door in her face. A haggard man reaches a hand out and promises to protect her even as he rips her heart out from her chest. A white-haired man draws a green sword and stabs her with it.

The fire is catching deeper now, chasing her as she hunts desperately for someplace it hasn’t touched. Rey is swamped in a morass of pain and longing and guilt as people who love him fail him over and over again, as he slips through every sharp crack in every system that should have protected him.

Rey doubles over, lost in his mind, weeping as his pain riots through her, as she herself is failed again and again. Rey falls into it, hurtling headlong down into a black abyss, forgotten and alone, crashing in a heap on the ground where laughing figures taunt her, tell her they will never love her, remind her that they threw her away like garbage, that she was born to be used up, cast off, destroyed- 

Rey is being crushed by the weight of the darkness, and there's no way out, she must claw upwards, must drag her fingers against the stone walls that are closing in on her, must pull herself up and out because she is going to die like this, she is going to die here, and she is going to _die._

It hurts so badly she can barely breathe, and in her desperation to find him, to free him she hears herself cry out in a voice that is not her own. 

_Ben, please, I cannot endure it_

A distant light. The sky opens up above her, filled with one dazzling star. 

Kylo Ren, dressed in white robes, sobbing at the feet of his younger self. 

_"I gave them up, I gave them all up for a wretched lie and years of abuse-"_

It's too much. 

Rey reaches out and pulls. 

She rips at him with all the strength she commands, yanking and clawing with everything within herself as she drags them up, pulls them out of the hell that they've been plunged into. 

She takes the man, she takes the boy, she takes Marth, she takes _everyone_ she can get, pulling up and out with a strength that floors her. 

That distant light, it turns out, wasn’t a star at all. 

It was a rope.

Green light, uncanny and wavering, fills the space behind her eyelids as she comes back into her own body, her mouth full of salt, her face wet and pressed against the stone floor, draped heavily against Kylo’s back. 

The sound of coughing fills the room as they groan, coming to with a shudder of gasping breath. Half-drowned by grief, they reach for each other with trembling fingers. He wraps his hands around her with the fervor of a shipwreck survivor and she falls into him, and together they make an unsteady bridge of their bodies. 

Kylo's head lifts, his arms still around her, his fingers gripping the raw flesh where she has clawed at her own skin, the marks red like fresh burns. 

"I am," he says, his breathing ragged, his face wet, "going to kill that thing."

Rey slumps backwards, exhausted. For a minute the world spins around them as they lay there, immobilized and awash in the echoes of their own fears. 

And then Rey remembers who she is, and where she is, and _why_ she’s here.

"Marth," Rey croaks, brushing the wetness off her face and turning to crawl to her page, still and unmoving on the ground. Rey crouches over to her, putting her hand (clammy and cold now) on her page's throat, feeling the steady beat of her heart. 

"Marth, get up," Rey whispers, her voice ragged, brushing back the damp curls on Marth's temples. “Get up or I’ll be so _lonely_ without you-”

Marth draws in a deep, gasping breath, her eyes fluttering open as her body doubles over in an abrupt spasm. 

Behind her, Kylo is getting to his feet. "Rey. Get up. It's coming."

She feels it then, too. A silent, looming presence. 

Rey gets up, putting herself in front of Marth, who has begun to groan. Beyond the circle of light, a sound reaches them. A shuddering, hungry sound. There's a metallic clang and then something metallic protesting. 

Then, from the darkness where her light can't reach, a crown rolls toward them, rolling unsteadily and curving faintly as it arcs towards her. it comes to a stop at her feet, its metal surface dented with rough indentations.

"Are those-" Kylo whispers.

"Teeth marks," Rey confirms, horrified but unable to stop herself from bending down and picking up the battered thing. "It couldn't destroy it," she whispers. 

"Got an exit plan, princess?" Kylo says, reaching down and scooping Marth up in his arms.

In the distant darkness they hear the sound of the creature beginning to pant as it approaches.

Rey wipes the crown off on the hem of her dress, nearly vibrating with energy. "Get Marth on your back. I'll lead us out."

He eyes her incredulously. " _That's_ the plan?" 

"First one to the stairwell wins," she says. 

They run. 

Rey takes the lead, the light bouncing and jumping around in front of them as they tear through the corridors like frightened cats, bolting left, right, straight, double back, speed up, hard turn, double back.

Behind her, Kylo has Marth draped over his shoulders. 

The creature, sensing that its prey is escaping, chases after them. They do not look back, and Rey hears Kylo shoving at it with the Force, sending it whimpering back only to resurge with greater strength.

"I _hate_ this thing," Kylo snarls. 

"Uh huh" Rey says.

“I’m going to bring you its head,” he threatens. 

“There’s the door!” Rey shouts, seeing it come into the pool of lantern light. 

There's another roar behind them, another shove of the Force, and then Rey all but runs into the doors that lead out of the labyrinth. She struggles with the handle for a heart stopping second, her hands shaking, and then she's got it. They stumble out, blinking in the flickering glow panels, and Kylo slams the door shut behind them with a thunderous bang. 

Rey slumps down, barely even registering the enormous thudding noise as the creature slams into the closed door behind them, howling and whining for release. Rey closes her eyes as Kylo slumps down next to her, Marth held carefully over his shoulders.

"You okay?" Rey rasps, her eyes parting as her breath returns. 

Kylo's expression is incredulous. "No?" 

"Is Marth-" 

“Hrmph,” she says, and immediately closes her eyes again. 

Kylo grunts, "You might have mentioned that Force healing doesn't work on that particular type of hell creature.”

"It never occurred to me that it _wouldn't_ until you went ahead and just slapped your palm on her forehead without so much as a backwards glance. Don't you ever look before you leap?" 

"I'm always _looking_. I just aim poorly."

Rey snorts. She can't help it. 

How did they get here? Exhausted on the ground with Rey's page draped over Kylo's shoulders? 

"This is such a mess," Rey whispers, glancing over at Marth's pale face. She looks even worse in the light, but she’s breathing steadily. “I can’t believe it worked.”

Kylo interrupts her anxious thoughts. 

"Rey. Tell me the truth. You saw all that stuff in my head, didn’t you?"

Rey considers lying to him. Saying she only saw her own pain or that it was all a blur. But if their roles were reversed, Rey would want to know who knew the worst things about her. Would want to know who had her story.

"I saw it, yeah."

He blows out a long breath. "Ah."

There are a lot of questions she wants to ask him, but all she says is, “I thought you must not have suffered much, to act like you do.” And then, quietly- “I was wrong.”

“Hell is upsettingly prevalent,” he says tonelessly. “Not unlike bad music or overbrewed caf.”

“I saw your master,” Rey murmurs. She wants to say: _He hurt you so much. I see now. I saw the lies. I understand. I felt it._ But it feels too intimate, too raw. "You did the right thing. Killing him."

He looks off into the middle distance, his gaze unfocused. "I just-" and he glances over at Marth. Then glances at her. "I'm just starting to think I didn't do it for the right reasons."

Rey's breath catches at the look in his eyes. 

"You don't have to say anything. I don't need to know about your past," she says, her voice tumbling over itself in an effort to suppress the warmth spreading in her chest. "Let's get Marth to my room and call a med droid." 

“Rey,” Kylo says. 

She gets to her feet, straightening her dress out, running a hand through her hair. The crown is still sitting there, a little worse for wear now, but intact. Inevitably, she looks back at him. He looks exhausted, his eyes red rimmed and blinking. His expression is pitiless in its gentleness. 

"Are you okay?"

Rey holds his gaze for a long time. 

"I don’t even know how to tell anymore," she admits.

He nods. "That thing that got in my head... it got into yours, too, didn't it?"

Rey thinks about the laughing faces of her parents, knowing with absolute certainty that nobody would ever truly love her. 

"Nothing I haven’t heard before," she whispers. 

A muscle twitches in his jaw. 

“Will we have nightmares tonight?” 

“Yes,” Rey says. “All three of us. But come on,” Rey says briskly. “We still have to climb back up the stairs.”

Kylo grunts. “Fine, but you can carry your _terror_ of a page, Princess Sithwhisperer.”

And she laughs, thinking about the way it felt when his body covered hers, shielding her as the dark exploded above them. The heavy weight of him- 

It felt like light.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Sithspawn](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sithspawn)   
>  [Smoke Demons](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Smoke_Demon)   
>  [Sith Alchemy](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Sith_alchemy/Legends)
> 
> Thank you SO much to Alex for this [inCREDIBLE drawing of Sith Princess Rey](https://twitter.com/alexleonis/status/1234288170281336834)\- i'm completely obsessed and have show it to everyone I know. In love.  
> Also eternally grateful to [Stanwars1 on twitter ](https://twitter.com/stanwars1)for help with fancy fabric stuff! 
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd appreciate a comment here on Ao3 or a follow [my Twitter account.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates.
> 
> If you'd like a little Kylo POV (which I'm pretty sure isn't going to appear in the formal story) that gives a hint what our boy was up to when he disappeared, [you can read that here.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites/status/1234574749751291906)


	11. 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> blah blah sorry for typos i'm just - i'm just like this okay it's what i'm like

* * *

**CHAPTER 11**

* * *

When Rey sleeps, her nightmares return. Less immediate than in the maze, but no less awful. The Sithspawn has given the worst part of herself a voice, and tonight the voice it choses is the voice of her mother.

A woman with a beautiful face and wide set hazel eyes. The woman leans down and places a palm on Rey’s cheek.

_“My daughter, it would have been much better if you had never been born.”_

Rey staggers back, her mother’s face shifting like a storytale mirror. 

“ _He’ll kill you, you know_ ,” her father tells her. _"He'll kill you sooner than he'd ever love you."_

Rey wakes with a strangled cry, her hand clutching her chest. It’s just a dream, just a nightmare designed to feed the most frightened, tiny part of herself. But, _gods_ , that part of her is loud _._

Suddenly her dirty dress is too close, she's filthy, she's going out of her mind with the intolerable sense that she’s going to be trapped in this frightened, fearful place for the rest of her life. It’s like shame mixed with fear. It’s like choking. 

Beside her, Marth sleeps peacefully in Rey’s bed, unconscious under the Force sleep Kylo had given her. She looks so peaceful, like she hasn’t suffered at all. 

Rey stumbles to the fresher and washes herself, scrubbing until her skin is pink. But even as she rubs her skin raw, she still feels like she will never, ever be clean. 

_Through victory, my chains are broken._

How long can she keep this up? Is she going to spend her whole life trying to carve out a niche in a world that wants only to destroy her?

Desperate to get rid of this feeling, she moves to her wardrobe and fumbles blindly for a dress, any dress, that will cover her up, clothe her in dignity, give her a place.

The cream dress slips over her head with a ripple of gems, pale and gleaming in the dim light of the waning fire. It is embroidered in diamonds, it has a train long enough to cross almost the whole room, and even with all that, it doesn't matter. 

None of it helps.

Rey comes to a shuddering, shimmering halt in the middle of the room, imploding under the weight of the nightmare that she can't quite claw out of her mind.

Why did it have to be her mother? 

She knows it's only the nightmare given to her by the creature, knows that Marth and Kylo are likely both trapped in their own hells, but it does nothing to ease the intolerable feeling. There has to be something she can do to stop feeling like this. She considers Spice. She considers Corellian whiskey. But she has no idea how to get those things, and anyway, they wouldn’t help. Or they would, but it would make her much, much easier to kill in the long run.

And she is good at surviving. The idea that there could be more than this panicky nightmare is intoxicating, and the problem is that she knows _exactly_ where to go to get relief. 

The urge to go to him is overwhelming. 

Maybe it's always been there, buried and manageable, but now in her weakened state it seizes the opportunity to raise its head. 

She abandons resistance. She will go to him. 

She packs only her commlink and a knife, but before she leaves she presses a heavy mechanic’s wrench from her work bench into Marth’s sleeping hand. It is a meager weapon, but all she has to offer. Drawing the blankets up to Marth’s neck, Rey presses a hand to her page’s cheek, as if for luck.

And then she slips out the door. 

* * *

The hallway to his rooms seems to stretch out in front of her, expanding and collapsing with dreamlike unreality. A trick of the light, a side effect of her own fevered state, but she starts to run anyway.

By the time she reaches his door, she all but falls into his room. 

He's thrashing on the bed, his face damp, his hands clenching in the grips of some awful dream. 

"Kylo," Rey breathes. Approaching him the way she might a wild animal, she puts a hand out, gingerly touching his shoulder. He's way too hot, almost feverish. “Kylo?” 

He doesn’t respond, and if she holds still, Rey feels like she could almost hear the dim roar of explosions in his head. How had she ever thought he was an arrogant, trigger-happy flyboy?

She thinks of the boy in Kylo’s nightmare. The name he doesn’t use. 

She tries a new tactic, "Ben Solo?" 

It is the wrong thing to say. 

Before she can even start he has her by the arm and he flips her over onto the bed, his breath heaving, his eyes wild as he stares down at her, unseeing. 

"That's not my name," he snarls. 

Rey stares up at him- her captor prince, the most dangerous man she’s ever met. She does not fight. He blinks at her as if against a buffeting wind. 

“Kylo,” she whispers. “Come back to me.”

He frowns down at her, his expression cooling, a little of that fevered insanity leaving him. 

“Rey?” Kylo rolls off her, shuddering. “Gods, did I- are you-” 

“You didn’t hurt me.”

Kylo sits up, puts his head in his hands, and groans. “Gods, not yet, not yet I haven’t. But I could have. I could have- I could have- I _will-_ ”

He cuts off.

“A lot of people can do anything they want to me,” Rey whispers. “But not you. I’d never let you.” 

When he meets her gaze, there’s a tortured longing in his eyes that Rey understands intimately. 

She _crawls_ to him. 

“I want you to do something for me,” she whispers. 

His nostrils flare and he tenses. “Rey,” he warns. “I’m not- I’m not in control of myself.”

“I’m counting on that.” 

When she gets to his side, she lets instinct take her. She crawls into his lap, presses one hand to his face. Is he even breathing? 

“Kylo, look at me,” she whispers. 

He turns his face up to hers, and she can see the fine texture of his skin, the dark circles, the hair pressed in unruly curls against his temple. 

“Peace is a lie,” she whispers. 

Kylo closes his eyes. “Rey. You’re killing me.”

“Passion is said to feed the Dark Side of the Force,” she whispers. 

“I thought you said-” he grunts, shifting underneath her. “I thought you said this was a bad idea.”

“Yes. But I had an awful nightmare, and I’m so _tired_ of feeling awful,” she whispers, leaning her face down just a little. “You could make me feel better.”

“Are you sure?” he murmurs. “Even if you hate me?”

The silence betrays her. He has to know that she doesn’t hate him.

She gives him the only honest answer that she can.

“I am glad you’re alive,” she whispers. “Kylo Ren, I am glad you're here with me.”

And she leans her head forward and presses her mouth to his. 

He’s so alive, so solid and real. He’s the exact opposite of laying splayed out and half dead on a concrete floor, or crying herself to sleep, or offering up what cold comforts are hers to command. Kylo is _alive-_ and currently spasming violently as his hands fly up to cradle her back, her neck in a frantic grip, like he thinks she’s going to evaporate. 

She wants to get closer, wants to brush herself against the scalding recklessness of him. She wants to be hurt, and to hurt in return. 

This was what she wanted, all along, wasn't it? To be pitted against something strong enough to withstand the force of her claws, someone who could withstand all of her. 

When he catches up to her, the kiss changes, all bruising heat and white hot finger tips, an electrifying current grounding itself somewhere south of her navel. 

"Yes," she purrs, loving the way he has so clearly wanted this, loving the way all that nightmare intensity has shifted into white-hot desire. 

He groans, pushes back against her, flattening her until she’s on her back on the mattress. 

Her hands fly to his neck, clawing at him as he kisses her mouth, her cheek, her neck, the tops of her breasts as his free hand fumbles furiously with the neckline of her gown. Rey arches her neck, arches her back, arches damn near anything that _can_ arch, and smiles wickedly into the darkness. 

It feels so, so good to get what she wants. 

He's not gentle. His fingers rake, his kisses scald, he pulls her hair to get her to deeper, more private places of her skin.

"I want-" he mumbles, pulling at her dress, hiking the fabric up around her hips as he shoves her legs apart with one knee. 

Rey reaches up and rips his shirt apart at the neck, and he hisses in pleasure at the feeling of it, bending down to kiss her with punishing intensity. 

"They should be afraid of you," he says, drowsy and drawling into her skin as he kisses down her neck, as he presses himself against her. He's hard, and she can feel all of him. 

He murmurs, his voice almost unintelligible with a haze of undisguised lust. "I want to take- I want to _keep_ you," he says, bucking against her. “Rey, you make me-" 

She groans, feeling the friction of their bodies sliding against each other like an indecent hand around her throat, like a star exploding in her head. 

He presses into her. "You make me feel so frightening."

"Kylo," she whimpers. 

"Gods, yes, that's it, that's my name- princess, yes- let me touch you," he grunts, his fingers sliding down her thighs.

Her eyes flit open and his hands stall, splayed and twitching on the side of her thighs. 

"Wait," she says, breathing ragged, giving him an uneven smile. "Ask nicely." 

"My darling viper, my little pirate, let me fill you full of stars," he whispers. 

Rey's lips part. "Yes."

"Yes?" He says, the reverence in his voice gone. "My princess commands me to kiss her like a monster, and then all she says is a meek little ‘yes’? I could get used to that."

Rey twitches, something inside her clenching down hard on his words. Like she could crush them.

“Don’t be smug,” she mewls, only because she can’t quite bring herself to beg. 

He grins at her, and in the low light he looks nearly inhuman. "Give me my name. Give me my name and bid me to please you."

"Kylo Ren," she gasps, feeling his fingers sliding between her thighs. "Kylo Ren, Kylo, Kylo- oh." 

He slips a finger into her and it feels - it feels- 

"Hrmmmm," she groans. 

"Good, good," he murmurs, starting a slow, steady movement. "Like that."

She can barely talk. "It- it doesn't _hurt_."

They said it would hurt. 

He's kissing her thighs now. "You didn’t ask me for pain."

"Kylo," she gasps, her teeth gritted against the strange, unfamiliar pleasure of it. 

"Can you take more? Do you want to?"

"Yes, more," she gasps, not even sure what she's asking for but trusting that he knows how to give it to her anyway. 

The second finger feels much different than the first. Deeper, fuller, and this time there's an edge. She grips his hair when he plunges all the way in, and when he starts to move it she tugs hard, wanting him to feel her too, somehow. 

"Yes," she gasps, the word a shuddering gasp.

"So sensitive," he says, twisting his fingers in a way that makes her whole body jerk.

"Please, please, please," she whimpers. 

"God, it sounds so sweet when you beg-" he says unsteadily. 

"Just- just a little more-" she pants. "Give me this, I need this, this is _mine-_ "

He's grunting too, like he can feel her. Then he brings his mouth down onto her sex, and she’s so sensitive, so worked up- 

"Rey, I- yes, gods," he says against her. "I can feel you, yes, sweetheart, let go."

Her orgasm hits her and everything, absolutely everything, contracts. Her back arches, her toes clench, her hands make fists, and all the air leaves the room as she inhales all of it inside herself. It feels shuddering and good and pulls up something safe and huge and deep from her lungs. 

She swears as loud as she can and maybe she says his name because he's suddenly on top of her, his fist hitting the pillow next to her, his body grunting in a wracking shudder. 

It goes still, the tides of that feeling spilling out from underneath them. Rey lays there, awash in the glow of a kept promise.

Her head is full of stars. 

* * *

When she wakes up again, it is to the immediate and overwhelming impression that she’s forgetting something. Kylo is next to her, laying still and - _gods be damned-_ he’s naked. They hadn’t had sex, where are his _pants?_

There’s no time to analyze that. Kylo’s chrono says it is just after dawn, which means she desperately needs to check her comms. She fumbles, her hands patting across the blankets until she finds the cool metal of her commlink.

There’s one message waiting for her. 

Princess,

Meet me in the officer’s lounge at once. It is a matter of life or death.

Whatever you do, come alone. It will be much worse if he follows you. 

Anders Vellian 

Anders is not prone to hyperbole, and he’s never lied to her before. At least, not that she knows. It would be better to go to him now, while Kylo is still drowsy. 

Trying not to wake him, she slips out of bed. She’s still got her dress on, and miraculously, he didn’t manage to rip it in the course of their tumbling around. 

Her hair is a disaster- she doesn’t need a mirror to know that, she she braids it quickly into a long plait down her back. A schoolgirl’s style, really. Anders will rib her for it. 

Kylo makes a grumpy noise, rousing slightly. Without lifting his head, he just says, “No.”

“Yes,” Rey hisses. “And please don’t tell anyone about this. I’m in enough trouble as it is.”

“Bed,” he says, sticking to monosyllables. 

“Shhh,” she hisses, grabbing for her shoes. “Go back to sleep.” 

“Kiss me,” he mumbles. 

“You’re naked and unwashed,” she says, trying to ignore the guilty feeling creeping into her stomach. 

“Where are you going?”

“To check on Marth,” she lies, the knife of guilt twisting. But it’s for the best. Whatever is waiting for her won’t concern him. Or if it does, it’s far better that he’s not there to witness it.

Anyway, when did she get the idea that he had a right to know her business?

She curses when she realizes that she’d left the crown in her room. There isn’t time to go back and get it, and Anders had said it was urgent. There’s no way her grandfather is going to be in the Officer’s Lounge. She’ll risk it. 

Crossing to the door, she glances back to see him fumbling in bed, as if hunting for her in the covers. She chokes on a smile. His back is a pale slash in the darkness, and she likes it. 

“Pretty tyrant, where’d you go?” he mumbles. 

She doesn’t trust him. Not all the way. But she trusts him with the secret of their bodies in the night, at least. She opens the door softly and leaves before he can try and stop her. 

* * *

The officer’s lounge is a lower level structure located in the administrative wing of the palace, and getting there requires her to slip through the main hall unseen. 

In her gilt dress and her bizarre hairstyle, that will prove difficult. When she slips down the main stairs, she sees the eyes of every officer in their fine military dress take in the sight of her. The long train trails behind her as she pads quietly down the steps, her eyes turned up as if she can’t be bothered to even _look_ at them.

The military generals are standing around, preparing for an early War Meeting, and as Rey draws near she catches the glimpses of their fading conversations. There appears to be some kind of quiet emergency going on, because she sees three of the high moffs and two commanding officers standing in a tense circle, mugs of steaming hot caf being refilled by human servants that scurry with unusual tension.

Interesting. 

Rey looks for Anders, but doesn’t see him. 

She crosses the room, grateful that Severn is following the traditional court custom of sleeping in till a luxuriously late hour so that Rey can claw the woman’s eyes out later for betraying Marth to the guards. 

Anger flares up in her chest, prickling and hot, and for once she _wishes_ she had the crown with her so that she might glower at everyone with even more weighty imperiousness. 

The administrative wing’s hallway is lined with soft carpets that muffle sound, and the hall is lined with heavy, blast proof doors. Anders has an office here, she thinks, along with the other Moffs. The grandest door is at the end, where Grand Admiral Voschek holds court on his rare visits to the planet. He’s been off planet recruiting for the fleet. Securing competent leadership, recruiting cadets, and finalizing plans for some unnamed invasion. 

An enormous waste of space for an officer class that spends most of their time on the fleet, but then, nobody asked Rey. 

The lounge is at the end of the corridor down an odd flight of stairs. Lined with warm yellow glow panels, the space is open and spacious, filled with wood cabinets, illuminated art pieces, and locked alcohol cabinets. There’s a place to play cards, a place to stand by the fire, and shadowy curtained alcoves where people can go to have private conversations. 

And at the moment, it’s totally empty.

“Anders?” 

She hears the sound of footsteps coming down the stairs. Way too many footsteps. 

Someone directly behind her clasps a hand over her mouth and yanks her into an alcove before she can do so much as scream.

A hard body. A gloved hand. The arctic, cool scent of peppermint.

“There are guards coming,” Anders hisses. “Don’t scream.”

Rey wants to tell him that she’d be far more likely to kick him in the groin than do something as pointless and wasteful as _screaming._ But he holds his hand over her mouth, pinning her to his chest as in front of them a surge of bodies pass them by. 

Red cloaked men prowl around the room, but they don’t give it anything more than a cursory glance. Whoever they’re looking for, they aren’t expecting to find them in this room. 

Marth has a moment’s panic for Marth and Kylo, but if they were after either of them, they’d simply go to their rooms first. They wouldn’t bother hunting the palace. 

When their booted footsteps proceed back up the stairs with a muffled, “Clear” from the tall one in charge, the abrupt silence is deafening. 

Anders is still holding her. 

“What were you thinking, defying him so blatantly?” Anders hisses into her ear. “He’s already on edge-”

Rey bites down on his finger as hard as she can. Had he only called her here to lecture her? He curses, dropping his hand from her mouth but still holding her pinned in the alcove. 

Rey’s hand fumbles for her knife but Anders says, “None of that now.”

He takes her by the wrist but he’s too late. She grabs the knife and in one swift movement brings it up and slashes Anders across the cheek. He curses and drops her and she stumbles back, disoriented and furious. 

“What is going on,” she snarls, the knife held in her hand. “How dare you summon me here like this and tell me nothing?” 

Anders is clutching his cheek, but at her voice he drops his grip. His glove comes back red. Rey looks at her handiwork. It’s a shallow mark, but she hopes it’ll scar. 

“I suppose I should have expected that,” he says, his eyes glinting. “Did he give you that knife?”

“Afraid I’ll mar your complexion?”

“I don’t know,” he says raggedly. “I understand scars are all the rage in men’s fashion these days.”

Sensing that the danger has passed, Rey points the knife at the floor instead of his face.

“Quit the theatrics,” Rey says. “What’s going on? Who just walked by?”

Anders straightens his jacket, looking affronted and unkempt and annoyed. “That was the court Inquisitor and his henchmen.”

Rey stares. “Who are they after?”

Anders looks at her, his jaw clenched. She already knows, of course. 

“They have orders to fetch you. Bring you to your grandfather.”

Rey’s mouth goes dry. There’s no reason the Inquisition would be sent for her unless her grandfather intended for them to exert their particular and unpleasant talents on her neurological system. 

Rey clenches a fist. “I’ll kill the lot of them before I go with an inquisitor.”

Anders rubs his temple, looking away. “I know. I thought I would warn you, but you weren’t in your _room_. I didn’t know where to find you. But there’s no time now, we have to move.” 

“Where?” Rey says, one brow raising. “Hiding from him seems futile.”

“I can bring him to you on my terms, however,” Anders counters. “Which I hope you will find preferable to being dragged into the Temple for some arcane and unpleasant ritual.” 

Rey nods, then bends down to part her skirt and holster the knife on her thigh band. It exposes a quick flash of leg in the process and Anders immediately looks away.

“Where should we go?” Rey says, trying not to roll her eyes at his quaint manners. 

“My office,” Anders says. “There’s something I have to give you first. And we should- we should have a talk.”

Rey fixes her skirts and looks him dead in the eyes. “Anders, thank you. It- it would have been deeply unpleasant to be dragged off by an Inquisitor.” 

It’s the kind of thank you she doesn’t often give, and Anders looks sensible of the compliment. His voice is a little harsh, and there’s somethig faintly miserable in his eyes. 

“I hate very much that this is all I can do.”

Rey touches his arm. “Anders, no Moff has ever endeared himself to me the way you have.”

Anders _stares_ down at her, his breath hitched, his blue eyes wide in the dim light of the alcove. 

There are certain moments, the kind that happen in the dark silences between here and there, where it becomes apparent that something is about to change. 

The realization that he is about to kiss her _slams_ into her.

Maybe she understands these things better, after last night, but Anders has that same hungry, consuming look in his eyes that Kylo has. Something acquisitive and uncultured. It’s so unlike him that she knows immediately that she has _badly_ misjudged him. 

He likes culture, power, beauty, art. He likes violence and favors. In retrospect, this development should have been obvious. 

She takes two stumbling steps backwards, unable to stop herself even though she knows she’d be smarter to let him kiss her. If she were smart, she would do everything she could to endear him to her. She would make herself his darling, do what she could to get onto his ship. 

But she’s not smart, she’s thinking about Kylo Ren, and how his kisses make her feel like a lightning strike. 

Anders, for his part, recovers smoothly. His expression is unchanged, his eyes calm. If he feels the rebuff, he doesn’t comment. Polished, smooth, and patient, he holds an arm out to her in a way that seems to convey a firm expectation that she will take it.

“Shall we?”

And, true to the dance they have always played, Rey reaches out and takes his arm. Her fingers tremble. She feels disoriented, caught off guard, and troubled as they move through the room towards the stairs. 

“Anders,” Rey murmurs quietly. “How did you know about the Inquisitor.”

Anders frowns, likely because he’s not supposed to talk strategy with her.

“I was with your grandfather when he gave the order.”

Rey frowns. “He’ll punish you for disobeying him.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle,” he says flatly. They walk together up the stairs, and Rey feels a quiet dread in her chest at the thought of facing her grandfather. Anders looks trouble too, his brow furrowed, his handsome eyes narrowed. 

Anders rubs his jaw with one gloved hand as they approach the end of the hallway. There’s a set of large double doors printed with his officer’s rank. They come to a halt and Anders turns to look at her as he hesitates.

“Rey, listen to me,” Anders says. “I want you to do something for me.”

“Anything,” Rey lies, taken off guard at the sudden intensity in his voice as they pause in front of his office. 

“Remember your place,” he says. Rey stiffens, but Anders presses on before she can speak. “You are the biological descendant of the Emperor. _His_ power runs through your veins. Be jealous of it. Don’t let just anyone have it.” 

Is he talking about Kylo? About the Emperor? Severn? Hell, even Marth is a possibility at this point. 

“Anders, I-” 

But before she can complete the thought, Anders pushes his office door open and shoves Rey through it so hard that she almost trips. Then, with a frightening little click, she hears the doors lock from the outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * nervous chuckle * 
> 
> \------
> 
> Please look at Finches' [drawing of dark Rey as this wikihow illustration](https://twitter.com/HouseOfFinches/status/1235704474666012672) that made me cackle. 
> 
> Here's [Rey's outfit from this chapter.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites/status/1237566268355436544)  
> And also [my fancast for what Anders looks like.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites/status/1237099705068331009)
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd appreciate a comment here on Ao3 or a follow [my Twitter account.](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) I post star wars content, memes, and fic updates.


	12. 12

* * *

**CHAPTER 12**

* * *

Rey slams her whole body against the door of Anders' office, but it's no good. It's a luxurious and thick plank of polished metal that bangs with resounding force as she hammers against it, but it doesn't budge. 

"Anders Vellian, in the name of the Emperor I _command_ you to unlock this door," she bellows, her blows rattling against the unyielding metal.

Betrayal has a particular tang to it. Like blood. 

Through the door, she can barely hear him.

“I'm sorry, Princess. But things have changed."

How can he sound genuinely regretful? How dare he pretend like this is something he didn't plan on? 

"Anders, I command you to open this door," Rey snarls. 

But there's only silence and the ringing sound of her fist against the door. He doesn't have to obey her. Her power seems to always end at the limits of her strength. She's too weak to even prevent herself from being imprisoned, how can she expect to survive here?Her panic claws its way up her throat as she turns to scan the room, looking for anything to redirect her energy towards.

Gods, she's so sick of feeling pathetic like this. Hammering against a door closed in her face. 

There has to be something she can _do._

Wild with desperation, she turns to look at his office. It's mundane, almost boring with its dark office furniture, heavy desk and datapads. It only takes her a few strides to reach his desk, and then she's ripping the drawers open, hurling them to the floor, searching for anything useful. 

They're empty, nothing but dead data sticks and scraps of paper. He planned this, the kriffing bastard. 

Rey remembers the first time she'd seen the system used here. It had seemed hideously outdated to her; marking important documents on crude organic matter. But her grandfather had insisted, because a flimsy cannot be hacked or broken into or coerced. 

Rey sits heavily into Anders' enormous office chair, her heart hammering in her throat. 

What would Kylo do if he suddenly found himself trapped? It's shameful. A simple lock was all it took to box her in. Is she that weak?

No. 

No, she's not.

She is a princess. She has thus far proven unkillable. She is the reason the Emperor is alive. Without her, he'd have to bring a stream of bodies into his palace and drain them, he'd have to start a whole black market of people to bludgeon and rip apart, and none of them would survive it. If she is strong enough to die a thousand times, she is strong enough to open this door. 

Getting back up, she walks back to the door and closes her eyes, drawing on the Force. A nagging voice in her head bites at her, mumbling in her grandfather's voice.

_You are not permitted to be strong._

Has he ever actually said that to her? Or has she only known it instinctively?

Suddenly the locked door in front of her isn’t a barrier between her and freedom, it is every door shut in her face, every dark shadow that has cast her life in darkness.

Rey closes her eyes, puts her hands on the metal ordinator controlling the door and draws in a deep breath of air. Rey thinks about her mother’s face, and anger like a living, breathing light fills her chest. 

_Through passion, I gain strength._

_There is no death, there is the Force._

The catch of the lock is fairly anti-climactic as it comes loose, really. The door slides open, smooth and pedestrian, and Rey is suddenly looking at the blank hallway opposite Anders’ office. 

She stands there, stunned almost into speechlessness. She's free. She'd done it. All her life, she'd never been able to pull something like that off. And she'd just... done it. Elation blooms like a soap bubble in her chest. Rey smiles. 

And then she hears Severn, not even a meter away and standing there with her hand on the wall like she's just had the moonlight scared out of her. 

“In the name of the mother, are you insane? Sneaking around with Anders Vellian on a day like today-” she hisses, crossing quickly to Rey with one hand out. 

Dimly, Rey registers that Severn is wearing a silky, high-necked dress and an elaborate metal necklace that curls up around her neck. It almost looks like armor. 

Good. 

She’s going to need it when Rey finishes _incinerating_ her for getting Marth dragged down to the Sithspawn.

"You," Rey snarls, charging forward, all that pent up energy finding a new target. "You betrayed Marth."

"What?" Severn says. “Are you seriously going to do this now? Grand Admiral Voschek is-”

"She was safe," Rey snarls. "She was safe and I was protecting her and then the Imperial Guard showed up. You called them."

Severn crosses her arms. “Do you think I'm that stupid? I had nothing to do with that. I've seen you nearly decapitate people who trifle with that girl. I don't have a death wish. "

“Would you like one?” Rey hears herself murmur, low and soft and utterly unlike herself. Rey extends a hand and feels the Force grip the Dathomirian's neck in an iron hold. Immediately, Rey understands that she is playing with fire here, teetering on the edge of something. Opening a door was one thing, but this- 

Severn’s dull silver eyes flash, but she keeps very still and doesn’t panic. Rey’s grip on her is loose still, and Rey can barely even think about it for fear that the sudden surge of power will vanish. She's riding a wave of power, but it feels wild and uncontrolled. 

Severn rasps, "I didn’t touch your grubby page. But if I were you, I’d be more worried why the only thing the Emperor has done to punish you is hurting that girl. I’ve heard the rumors about you. I heard what he does.”

Her voice is unsteady, but almost gentle. It’s infuriating. How dare she bring up Rey’s most private shame? How dare she look at Rey with a gleam in her eyes that seems frighteningly empathetic? Rey stares into Severn's black eyes, the wild feeling only getting worse. It feels hot. Way too hot. It's wrong. Bad. 

Severn is gasping now. “Have I ever betrayed you? I can help you. Rey. _Please_." 

Rey is no expert in cries for mercy, but she knows one when she hears it. With a shutter and a held breath, Rey releases her hold on Severn and drops her hand, clutching it to her chest like she's scared it's going to leap out and try that again without her consent. Severn slumps against the wall, coughing and nearly doubled over. 

“You could have killed me,” Severn gasps, running a hand gingerly against her throat. 

“But I didn’t,” Rey says unsteadily. “Why were you following me? If you saw Anders lock me in the office, why didn’t you help me?”

Severn’s eyes go dark. “I didn’t know he _locked_ you in there. I assumed you went willingly.”

Rey’s eyes narrow. “Prove it.”

Severn gives her a cold shrug, getting back on her feet again.

“There’s no way for me to do that, short of you pushing your way into my brain with that unsettling Force trick of Kylo Ren’s.”

Rey blinks. “What?”

Severn gives her a cold stare. “Didn’t think I knew about that, did you? My people are witches. You forget that. We know the Force, too. Well, we did, until your grandfather had the witches annihilated during the wars _._ ” 

They just stand there for a moment, like neither of them can quite believe what she just said. She clears her throat, and winces. Guilt lances through Rey as the anger abandons her. 

Peace may be a lie, but violence isn’t the only truth. It can’t be. 

“I’m sorry,” Rey says. 

Severn rolls her eyes. “I don’t want an apology for a genocide from _you_. I want it from him. My people are matrilineal, you know. I never wanted to serve a king.” Her eyes go to Rey’s crown, and her frown deepens. She’s hesitating. “Anyway, I came here to tell you that Grand Admiral Voschek has returned unexpectedly. I can only assume this is a bad thing. Make of that what you will.” 

She turns on her heel and begins to march woodenly away. 

Rey’s mind whirs. 

What had Anders said? 

_Things have changed._

Voschek has returned unexpectedly. He’s not due back for months. And Anders… locked her in his office. Why? Why do that? She needs help. She needs to move. Get to the throne room and observe whatever awful thing is about to happen. 

And above all, she needs to get to Kylo Ren. 

“Severn,” Rey calls, her voice loud against the echoing stone. “Would you serve _me_?”

Severn pauses, but doesn’t turn around. She looks like a slim black reed in the contrast, all dark shadows and fine silk. “I don’t make a habit of putting my neck in a yolk that will choke me,” she says. And then she glances back, meeting Rey’s eyes. “But I would never try and stop you.” 

They share a long look.

"Let me try and heal-"

Sever turns on her heel and walks away, tossing over her shoulder one last, "Don't forget about my page. You owe me, princess." 

And then she slips into a hallway and is gone. 

* * *

By the time Rey reaches the Main Hall, she can feel already that something is wrong. The administrative hallways are deserted, and at this hour it should be packed with people. There’s an odd hush to it all, and Rey feels the weight of her gown’s white train dragging behind her, heavy like something is tugging at it, trying to hold her back.

The Great Hall is all but deserted. Rey breaks into a run, sprinting down the hallway and making for the Throne Hall. It’s the mirror of the Great Hall, with the same enormous staircase, the same tall glow panels, the same stone floor and looming statues. Except that this room has a huge, pointed throne at the top of the staircase. 

It’s used only ceremonially for things like appointments, trials, and official proclamations. It’s a showroom, essentially. Rey had her Name Day ceremonies in that room, as well as her official announcement as the Sith Princess. She avoids it whenever she can. She can still remember the way it had felt to stand there, bathed in artificial light in a black silk gown, with her grandfather’s hands on her shoulders and an entire world staring up at her there to witness it. 

The memory only quickens her step, and by the time she reaches the doors she can already see the two posted guards preparing to bar her way. But Rey simply points at the crown on her head and glowers at both of them until they step back and open the doors for her without another word. 

She slips in, ducking into the shadows at the edges of the Throne Room, which is filled with the top brass of the Final Order. They stand in neat lines, their posture rigid and formal and their fixed on- 

The Emperor seated in the enormous, pronged throne, bathed in cold light. At the base of the stairs, Admiral Voschek stands in his immaculate uniform, his posture unyielding and his eyes hard. But even from here, fear radiates off him like something fuming and sick. 

It is unquestionably the scene of a trial. 

Nobody notices Rey as she slips into the shadows at the edge of the room. She seems to have interrupted at the height of something. 

“And how do you propose to answer for your crimes,” booms the Emperor, addressing his top official the way he might scold a disobedient dog. 

“I will dispatch Ren for you, my Emperor,” Voschek says, his graying black hair damp in the harsh light. 

“And how do you propose to do that _,_ ” the Emperor says. “When you couldn’t even stop him from arriving here? Forgive me if I have little faith in your ability to kill him.”

Voschek drops to his knees. “Grant me one more chance to fulfill my mandate. Let me prevent the prophecy.” 

A cold, gurgling voice comes from a corner. An acolyte steps into the light, his watery black eyes and gray skin making him look faintly reptilian. She’s never been good at telling the acolytes apart. In their identical clothes and their blank stares, they seem like one entity operating through many bodies. 

“A pairing of that caliber cannot be condoned. They must destroy each other, or we will be destroyed,” he hisses. 

The Emperor waves him off. “Superstitious fools, both of you. We are not the Jedi, we do not bend ourselves to the point breaking to subvert a trite prophesy written on a dusty tablet in the archives. Bring the boy forward. Let Voschek look at his failure before I make a decision.”

Rey feels a sick jolt as Kylo Ren is shoved up onto the stairs. He’s dressed in his sleep shirt and pants, his feet are bare. But he seems unharmed. His eyes are fixed on the Emperor.

Rey lifts a hand to her mouth, trying to stop herself from gasping out loud. She moves on leaden feet, drawn towards him like something possessed. Rey’s internal trill of alarm must register in his brain somehow, in that strange way that he seems connected to her, because his head turns slightly. He stares right at the pillar she’s hiding behind, and then pointedly looks away.

He doesn’t give her location away. He protects her secret even when calling attention to her presence here might tip the precarious scale of this trial in his favor. 

“Kylo Ren,” booms the Emperor. “It appears the Grand Admiral has seen fit to have you arrested. He has presented me with an indictment for your immediate execution. How do you respond to these charges?”

The Emperor speaks coolly, like he isn’t particularly invested either way. 

Kylo’s voice is clear and calm. “Seems that your Grand Admiral is attempting to make his failure my problem. How was I supposed to know the man’s job depended on me staying on the Finalizer? Voschek needs me dead to justify his continued uselessness.” 

Voschek snarls. “Rabid _dog,_ I should have you executed right now. Guards-”

“Calm yourself, Grand Admiral,” says a new voice. An icy cold wind of a voice. Anders Vellian steps up, putting a hand on Voschek’s shoulder in a familiar, friendly way. “Let’s not be overzealous in our pursuit of justice. There’s a process for these matters.”

Rey feels herself relax, just slightly. And then he says- 

“So, let us proceed according to custom. I second the motion,” Anders says. “I invoke the Law of Two. Kylo Ren should be executed for crimes against the galaxy, flagrant disrespect for the military chain of command, and blatant lecherous intent against a Princess of the Sith.”

Rey goes blank, one singular thought ripping through her. _Anders Vellian is not her friend_. He was _never_ her friend, and he locked her in his office this morning expressly so she wouldn’t be here when he tried to cut a piece of her heart out.

And for that? He should definitely, absolutely die. 

Something inside her feels like it’s beginning to crack. Or at least tremble. It feels like they’re standing on the point of a blade with nothing but empty air on all sides. They could fall in any direction.

The Sith Acolyte hisses. “I third the motion, though I don’t particularly care _which_ of them we do away with, just so long as there are not two of them. It is destruction. I can feel the annihilation. It hungers. The fleet is nearly ready, the Great Work is prepared to begin, we cannot afford to meddle with the Old Gods-” 

“He killed his master,” Voschek interjects. “He subverted a plan centuries in the making-” 

The Emperor’s voice is cold. “And yet, here he stands. Alive. Healthy. My guest. You suggest I murder him in cold blood?”

“The Empire was destroyed by the Force. You, my Emperor, are the only dark light we need. A corrupting flame can only weaken our power. Destroy him, I beg of you.”

It's a pretty speech. Voschek was always good with words. But the Emperor looks unmoved as he turns his gaze to Kylo. Rey draws closer, her hand slipping to her knife. “Two of my top generals and the unified Cult of the Sith are in favor of your immediate death. Kylo Ren, what do you say?”

“Just what you said to me,” Kylo says, his voice deep and booming and sent out to everyone in the room. “That I can give you all the power you could possibly want. Snoke is dead. I’m not. Your fleet is nearly ready. How do you intend to pilot it without a wellspring of Force energy? You need me. Let me have your trust, let me have the fleet, and let me have the girl, and I will bring enough power to your doorstep to make the stars tremble.” 

His words echo around the room, and Rey has to focus will all her might to stay calm, to keep herself within her own body so that she doesn’t announce her presence to her grandfather. But it is hard, watching Kylo Ren thunder in defiance of fate, prophesy, destiny.

He stands at the base of the staircase, so brave it makes her heart ache. 

Voschek's voice is low and murderous, full of a deadly intent. “I swear on the Throne of the Sith that I’ll kill the girl myself before I see our plans fall to dust-” 

And then he cuts off, his eyes widening, his breaths coming short, and then not at all. Rey’s gaze immediately flicks to her grandfather, but the Emperor seems surprised that his Grand Admiral is being choked where he stands. If not him, who? 

But then, she knew it all along, didn’t she? She looks to Kylo Ren, the Snoke-Killer, the being Voschek and Vellian seem to fear so desperately. Kylo Ren’s expression is intent and focused as he chokes the life out of the Grand Admiral without even lifting a hand.

The will of the Force surges and snaps around him, and for a second Rey can almost feel it. Like there’s a slim cord between her heart and his, and he is sending a gentle, electric current between them. Her heart skips, staring at his profile as he coldly chokes a man to death in front of her. Kylo’s gaze flits to hers. There isn’t an ounce of surprise in his face, but a fathomless pit of something intense and hungry and dangerous. 

“Please,” Rey whispers, not even sure what she’s asking for except that she knows that he will give it to her. 

Grand Admiral Voschek falls to the floor with a wet gurgle, as dead as the stones under her feet. 

Silence. Kylo Ren rolls his shoulders and turns to look directly at Anders. 

All the air leaves the room.

“Congratulations on your promotion, Grand Admiral,” Kylo says. 

And then it explodes into chaos. 

The neatly formed lines of generals and their attendants break rank, surging forward in a unified mass of outrage and fury as the body of their second in command begins to cool. 

Rey lunges for Kylo, throwing herself up onto the first step where he’s standing and fumbling immediately for the cuffs holding his hands tied. They're either about to take a new place in this hierarchy or fight for their lives, and she knows he'll need his hands free for either.

Anders is just standing there, staring blankly at his former commander like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. 

As Rey unlatches Kylo's restraints, she lets the heavy metal thing fall, and Kylo turns to stare down into her eyes. She has the odd sense that he’s about to kiss her in the middle of all this. 

Instead, he says, “Do you remember what I told you? That first night you came to me?”

Rey grips his hand with bruising strength, staring up at him. “That you’re worse. That you’re _so_ much worse.”

His answering grin is fierce as they share one burning, murderous moment. 

“Enough,” bellows the Emperor. “Silence.”

All eyes turn to the Emperor, who poised at the top of the stairs and glowering at them all with such might that it seems to subdue the crowd. “It would seem that justice has been served.”

“What justice?” Anders bellows, his voice furious. “He _murdered_ the Grand Admiral. He’s going to kill the princess next if he’s not stopped. Emperor, I beg you. Let me kill him. Grant me the privilege-”

“Grand Admiral, your venom is admirable,” the Emperor says. “But it would seem that the will of the Force has spoken.”

“Your majesty,” Anders begins. 

“Voschek thought he understood his orders. I told him to prevent Kylo Ren from reaching Exegol. He assumed I asked this of him because he feared that his arrival here would bring our doom. He was a fool. Pray yo do attempt to repeat his failure.” 

For the first time, Anders looks right at Rey. His jaw clenches, and she can see lines of acute fury in his posture. Whatever Anders was planning, this _wasn’t_ it. The knife point they've been walking has shifted under her feet, and without a second thought, Rey knows what side she’s going to plummet down. 

She takes one step forward and puts herself just a little bit between Anders and Kylo. Between Kylo and anyone, really. 

As if some universal signal has been tripped, the entire room seems to turn en masse to look at Rey.

In the ensuing silence, Rey wonders with detached curiosity if Anders is going to try and kill her. He'd be a damn fool to try it, with Kylo Ren at her back. But part of her wishes desperately that he would, just so she could watch. His mouth twists. Kylo puts a hand on her lower back, coming to step along side her. 

“Long live the Crown of the Sith,” Rey murmurs, glowering at Anders. 

His expression is furious, but Anders raises his hand and places it over his heart. 

“Long live the Empire,” he barks, and behind him, the entire room mirrors him, swearing their fealty to an Empire whose highest ranks have just taken a mighty blow.

Rey looks at Kylo, and feels a dark burning in her chest as she realizes that whether they like it or not, the whole room is swearing their allegiance to the two of them.

Rey meets Kylo Ren's eyes, and he looks at her, and she can't decide if she should cry or laugh. Instead, they turn as one and begin a slow, deliberate ascent up the steps, their eyes trained on the throne. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of things that came out of last chapter!
> 
> Stanwars1 on twitter sent me [these cute earrings for Marth](https://twitter.com/stanwars1/status/1240412106584993797) and i liked them and I think you should look at them too :D  
> Batsy made [ this INCREDIBLE manip of Rey in this dress that is so Dark Crown](https://twitter.com/f8rcedyads/status/1240289668668821505) I can barely breathe!!! It looks amazing, Batsy! Thank you so much! 
> 
> And Tory made this- frankly- [unbelievable painting of the Throne Room that is so dead on it's like- it's like she read my mind?](https://twitter.com/torymiles/status/1240263415635066880) I literally cannot stop looking at it, thank you so much.  
> Audrey made [ this fantastic thread of Dark Rey/ Dark Crown inspired dresses that is incredible!](https://twitter.com/audreyii_fic/status/1240384047509053445)  
>   
> \---
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd really appreciate a comment or a kudos! Check out [my Twitter account](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) for star wars content, memes, and fic updates.


	13. 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (Still gotta catch a few typos, sorry in advance, really wanted to post!)

* * *

CHAPTER 13

* * *

Rey and Kylo Ren stand at the Emperor’s side. A cup and a sword, poised at the top of a staircase and witnessed by thousands of courtiers. The three of them loom above the crowd, so still they could all be statues. 

It's strange. In a way, she's been here a thousand times. Alone, on top of everything, feared and reviled and powerless and devastating. But today, _now_ , she's standing next to someone else while it's happening. Someone who just publicly executed a Grand Admiral for slighting her, upending an entire political system for reasons unknown. The whole thing has the unreal quality of the dream. 

Anders Vellian, solemn and furious in his fitted coat, bends at the knee and swears his loyalty to the crown, to the Sith, to the Final Empire, to damn near anything asked of him. From her position at the top of the stairs, Anders looks almost small.

But maybe all men seem small to her now, in light of Kylo Ren. He's looking at her, his eyes hooded, his smile lazy, and his motives unclear. For better or worse, they have publicly aligned themselves. The most important people in the Final Order all saw her step between Kylo and Anders. And she's dead sure they aren't missing the way Kylo Ren is staring at her, either. 

And then, just like that, the Emperor dismisses his commanding officers. Someone is called to collect the body of the former Grand Admiral. Suddenly, they are living in a new world. 

“An interesting development,” says the Emperor, watching the clerk tasked to the grim task of loading Voschek onto a hoversled. Rey and Kylo turn and look at their master. “These are dangerous times. I admit, I didn't think Voschek would call a _trial_. Having you dragged here in this state of undress... most uncivil." 

"Hopefully your new Grand Admiral will serve you better than your last one," Kylo says, his voice flat and unrepentant. 

The Emperor turns to look at Rey, his gaze assessing. Cool. Blank as damp stone. 

"It seems you have many secrets these days, my dear."

Rey keeps her face calm. "I meant no disrespect. I didn't want to burden you, grandfather, with my hapless comings and goings."

"How considerate. I will expect a full unburdening of your expansive conscience at your earliest convenience. Until then, I want you to see to smoothing things over with Anders."

Rey stiffens. "He tried to have our guest executed."

The Emperor raises a hand and Rey flinches. But he only murmurs, "Even so. He is now the Grand Admiral. And Vellian has always harbored a quaint, domestic type of affection for you. It might be useful to us." 

Rey grits her teeth. "Yes, grandfather."

And then the Emperor leans closer to her, his voice low, his eyes _burning_ even as his voice is light and casual. "And if I _ever_ sense you using the Light side of the Force again, I'll cut your hand off that you might not raise it against the sacred teachings I've allowed you to access." 

And then he smiles, and turns, and walks slowly away, heading for the staircase at the other end of the dais. The second one that rises up above the throne, up to the surface of the planet. He threatens her life and leaves the way he came in. It's so absurd, so awful, that she could almost laugh. 

She turns to Kylo, who watches her grandfather's retreating form with an unreadable expression and a clenched jaw.

Rey says, "We shouldn't stand here. We're exposed." 

“Do you think he would have let them?” 

“Let them… kill you?” Rey says, hesitating, not wanting to answer. 

Kylo looks at her, his nostrils flaring. Something about him seems unstable. Vivid and unprecedented and unkind. "Kill either of us. The Grand Admiral thought there was a prophesy about us. I never heard anything about that, but they seemed convinced enough that they were willing to defy the Emperor in order to avoid its fulfillment. So why didn't he let them cut me down?" 

“You’re valuable to him. He needs you alive,” she says carefully. 

“Like he needs _you_ alive?” he says harshly. 

Rey keeps her voice very low, conscious that there are still generals below them, milling around in anxious circles.

"The Sith don't believe in an afterlife. They aren't like the Jedi. They fear death so much, because they know this is all we will ever have. If he's leaving us alive, it's because he thinks that our existence increases his chances of survival somehow."

"Well he's wrong about that," Kylo hisses. 

Rey puts a hand on his arm. “Control your emotions. They’ll only use it against you if they think they know what makes you tick.”

He looks sharply down the stairs at the remaining courtiers. Standing in front watching Voschek’s body being removed is Anders Vellian.

The new Grand Admiral.

“He was a friend of yours, wasn't he?” Kylo says. 

Rey sets her jaw. "He's a friend of the Crown."

"Dangerous business, friendship," Kylo mutters, his hand twitching at his side. 

Anders looks up then, meeting Rey’s eyes with a gaze that burns. His expression is difficult to read at this distance, but he looks alive with wiry tension, and it feels like he’s trying to tell her something vitally important. 

She wants to flinch away from that look, but Kylo murmurs, “Don’t look away. This is a confrontation you need to win.”

So she holds Anders Vellian’s ice blue stare. She doesn't flinch as Kylo puts an arm around her waist, doesn't even blink as he tilts his face down to murmur into her ear. 

"He should know. He should see you. They should all see you."

Rey inhales the heady feeling of his closeness, the height, the statues, the power. 

_Look at me, and know me, and fear me._

Anders looks away. He barks something at one of his commanders and talks off into the shadows towards the Main Hall. The minute he’s gone, Rey elbows Kylo in the side. Hard. He makes a little _oof_ of surprise. 

“Don’t do that. That was more about you than me,” she grouses, straightening the hem of her dress and brushing an errant strand of hair back. Okay, sure, it felt great. But she's not blind enough not to know that if she looked strong in that confrontation, so did he. Wrapped around her, bending to nearly maul her in public. “Honestly, you’re so-”

He pulls her around to face him so fast that she doesn’t even have time to breathe, and then he’s kissing her. Right there, standing illuminated at the top of an enormous staircase with seventeenth Sith statues and at least a dozen Final Order commanding officers to witness. 

His mouth tastes coppery, and his hands around her waist are like iron as he kisses her roughly. Possessively. He _has_ her, firmly gripped, head tilted back, tongue in mouth, hot heat spreading from his body to hers as he backs her up so that she feels like she might fall down the stairs if he didn’t have such a firm grip on her. 

So she clings to him, and he holds her so steady, so tight. Hot and bruising. And she _wants_ him. 

And gods, it feels so good. Like all the tension, all the fear and sickness and unease is turning into something warm and molten as he grips her at the small of her back, the silence and the void of the world behind them receding into legend and shadow. 

“That,” he mumbles against her mouth. "Was only about you. You, and my hands on you, and my mouth on you, and-" 

She bites him. 

He hisses, drawing back to stare down at her with his eyes hooded and his mouth a vivid red as his grin widens. “Little tyrant.” 

She holds up a finger and points it at him, putting a little distance between their bodies, which the of getting out of a warm bath into a cold room feels bad. _Come back_ screams something inside her.

“Hope you enjoyed that, because this is the first and only time you’ll kiss me in public.” 

His lips part. “In that case, I want to make it count. I didn’t even hike up your dress-”

She flushes and cuts him off, not sure _what_ she’ll do if he keeps talking like that. “We need to leave. We’re too exposed up here.” 

“No, no,” he mumbles, taking he in his arms again. “I have it all figured out.” 

He brings a hand up to cup her cheek, staring down into her eyes. “You come to my room. Right now. You _don’t_ ask all those sharp questions of yours and we tumble into my bed and I kiss you in places you’ve-”

It’s heady and intoxicating and happening so _fast_ and she’s so afraid of how much she wants to just sink into the lushness of what he’s offering her. Isn’t that what she could do? She’s a princess, after all. Kylo Ren has publicly staked a claim on her in front of the entire army, and her grandfather _hadn’t even objected._

In theory, this is a good thing.

So why is she so afraid? What had Kylo said before? 

_Let me have the girl, and I will bring enough power to your doorstep to make the stars tremble._

“Kylo, why did you ask him if you could have me?” Rey murmurs. 

"Instinct," he murmurs, his expression careful. "I don't know." 

Two feelings war in her chest. On the one hand, she resents the implication that she’s something Kylo Ren feels entitled to ask for, that he would throw her name in his list of demands like a manufacturing contract or a battalion of light infantry. 

But on the other hand, something in her had gone toe-curlingly hot when he’d asked to have her. That he’d wanted her so badly that he would upend an entire military structure for her. Even if she doesn’t entirely understand why he wants her so badly, it is a heady, wine-drunk feeling to know that he does. 

Kylo’s gaze is assessing. “Are you angry with me?”

“I don’t know,” she murmurs. “I haven’t made up my mind.”

He looks into her eyes, seeming to size her up. "You still don't trust me at all." 

Rey's mouth twists. "You're the one keeping secrets. I'm an open book."

He looks away, and Rey knows she's right. Everyone seems so capable of keeping their own secrets here. Severn, Marth, the Emperor, Anders, everyone. Her entire world, and she still understands so little of it. 

But there are some things that Rey knows for sure.

Rey wants Anders Vellian to pay for betraying her. She wants to check on Marth. She wants to go to the Archives and read datapads full of books on things that interest her. She wants Kylo Ren to kiss her into the distant stars. She wants to bite down on something and tear. She wants to sleep for a hundred years. 

A small voice interrupts her thoughts. A hoarse whisper from the shadows at the bottom of the stairs. 

“My lady,” Marth says. 

Rey and Kylo turn as one, staring down the stairs at the slim figure of Marth, dressed in her administrative tunic and looking very ill. Rey flies down the stairs, Kylo hot on her heels.

“Marth,” Rey hisses. “I left you in my room for a _reason._ You nearly died-” 

Marth is crying, her tears leaving wet tracks down her pale blue face. Rey comes to a dead halt at the sight, stopping a few steps above the girl as she leans on the railing post at the bottom. 

“Highness, it’s Kotta. Please, she’s sick, you can help her, I beg you.”

Kylo looks sharply from Marth to Rey. 

“Severn’s page? _That’s_ what you’re here about?” he says. 

Rey’s brain whirls as several dots connect themselves. 

“You two know each other,” Rey breathes, understanding dawning. “You and she-.” 

Marth meets her gaze, her dark blue eyes wide and bloodshot. She admits to nothing. All she says is, “Please.” 

Rey blows out a long breath. “I’d already _agreed_ to heal Kotta. Severn and I reached an agreement.” 

“She’s getting worse every moment, my lady,” Marth says, taking an unsteady step forward. “I beg you-” 

“Stop _begging_ me,” Rey snaps. “You’re not a creature, Marth. Just... just take me to Kotta. I can try and heal her.”

Marth sags with relief, dropping into a shaky, deep bow. 

Kylo takes a step forward. “None of that, kid, you’ll fall over.” 

Rey sighs, gesturing to the girl as she whispers, “Kylo, would you-”

“Sure thing,” he says, taking Marth into his arms. And then he gives her a little smile, his former intensity gone. “This should get some people talking.”

Marth looks deeply embarrassed at being held but doesn’t protest. Rey gives her page a stern look.

"This is," she says, "officially the last time you are going to disobey me." 

Marth nods. "I can walk," she says feebly. 

“If you didn’t want to be carried, you should have stayed in bed,” Rey snaps. 

* * *

They make an odd trio as they walk into the Main Hall.

Rey walks in front of Kylo, who carries Marth with his usual stone-faced court persona. They stride into the Hall, two favored royals with a disheveled page in tow, Rey tries to imagine what they gossip mill will say about this.

Probably, they'll say that Marth must have displeased her mistress, and that she sent Kylo to punish her. The thought is repellant. Rey's angry with Marth for lots of reasons, but she doesn’t like the idea that people will think that Rey’s the kind of person who would discipline her page like that. 

Even so, it’s an ideal cover story. Rey has leaned into the harsh princess facade more than once, and it never bothered her before. If the courtiers found her vicious, it made her less of a target. But today, as they stride through the Great Hall and the crowds fall silent at the sight of them, the idea that people will think she physically abused Marth is too much.

Even here, there are lines she would never cross. 

She can’t tell them the truth- that her disobedient page nearly got herself killed running around at night, resulting in her imprisonment in an underground maze haunted by a nightmare Sithspawn that nearly killed them all as they liberated her. It sounds absurd even to her own ears. 

But she can come up with a new lie. Something that at least represents her actual personality, even as it terrifies people. They're all looking at her now, and before they cross out the other side, Rey comes to a stop. 

She turns around to look at the milling courtiers staring openly at the feral princess, the injured page, the dark prince in his bedclothes. 

“My page has been grievously wronged,” Rey says, her voice loud in the cavernous room. It seems to echo in the vaulted ceilings, circling the enormous Sith Statues, climbing the bone white stairs and disappearing into the shadows. “And I swear on the Crown of the Sith that I will find the person responsible. I will make them suffer.” 

She lets that hang there, echoing around. Rey looks from courtier to courtier, hoping they feel the force of her wrath down to the tips of their toes. 

Behind her, she hears Kylo Ren take one menacing step forward. 

That’s enough. One by one every single person in the room bows to her, bending at the waist with their hands on their hearts as they receive her proclamation and accept their subjugation. They would all kill her if they thought they could get away with it. Rey knows it and accepts it. 

But for the first time, Rey thinks she might like to watch them _try._

* * *

Kotta is being kept in a private room in the palace's staff medical ward, an austere, comfortless room populated almost entirely by droids. Marth leads them right to Kotta's door, almost falling out of Kylo’s arms in her eagerness to press the passcode into the access panel. 

“Been here before?” Kylo says wryly, setting Marth down. 

But for once in her life, Marth doesn't smile.

It’s a narrow, claustrophobic space, and laying on the single cot is the slim figure of Kotta Hano, Severn’s page. Marth walks over to Kotta’s side, dropping to her knees at the girl’s bedside and taking her hand. 

“Kotta, I brought the Princess. She’s here to help you,” Marth whispers. "Just like I promised." 

Kotta doesn't move. The girl looks a few years older than Marth, with curly hair and skin the color of freshly brewed caf. Marth strokes her hair back from her temple with such tenderness, such familiar gentleness and easy love that Rey is momentarily robbed of breath. 

Suddenly, it all makes sense. 

Marth running around after hours. Marth getting caught in Severn’s room unattended. Marth not sleeping in her own rooms at night. Marth and her flushed cheeks and giddy smiles. 

“Oh, no,” she murmurs, her stomach dropping. “You love her?” 

Marth’s eyes are wet as she looks up at Rey. “Please. Please.”

Kylo, leaning against the door with his arms crossed, meets Rey’s gaze. “That's no ordinary illness, is it?”

Rey nods. The radiating sense of unease, of nightmares and fever, is distinctly Sith. Even if Rey wasn’t Force-sensitive, she could tell. What had Severn said? It seems like ages ago. _She ran afoul of a Sith artifact._

“What did she get into? A holocron?” 

Marth’s lips tremble. “It was a necklace. She wanted to bring it to Lady Severn. For her birthday.”

“And she went looking in the Archives,” Rey sighs. “Poor thing. When I was a girl, I tried to steal a Sith sword. Nearly lost my hand in the process.”

Marth’s doesn’t look at _all_ reassured by Rey’s grisly story, which is troubling because usually Marth loves grisly stories. 

“But you’re _you,"_ Marth says, her voice plaintive and grim. "You’re strong, stronger than almost anyone. You could recover. You can take it, but Kotta is gentle, she’s not even mischievous, not like me. We're not strong like you. What if she dies here? What if-”

Kylo cuts her off, stopping Marth’s panicked babble before it can reach a crescendo. 

“Marth,” Kylo says, “You’re right. The Princess _is_ strong. So let her work.” 

It feels wrong, like Kylo is lying. Sugaring the truth, when in reality, Rey isn’t strong. Not strong enough to be the person Marth needs right now. Hell, she can barely save her own skin, let alone someone else’s. 

But there’s no time to dwell on her own failings. She’s either strong enough to save Kotta, or she’s not. And if she can’t do it, Kylo can. That thought is so reassuring that she even manages a gentle smile. 

Marth begins biting at her nails and Rey puts a hand out, resting it on Marth’s knee. “Marth. Your beautiful nails. Don’t bite them.”

They exchange a long glance, and Rey tries to look steady and reassuring, like someone reliable and in charge. Without meaning to, she realizes that she’s trying to act like a parent. The realization makes her feel sort of unsteady, like someone is shining a spotlight directly at her, expecting a speech when she didn’t prepare one. 

She’s always felt _responsible_ for Marth. But this feels like something different than that. Intense affection mixed with a bone-deep fear.

Kylo is watching her, his eyes hooded and serious. 

Marth hesitates for one second, and then nods. 

Crossing to Kotta, Rey takes a deep breath and puts one hand on the poor girl’s temple. 

A surge of nausea fills her, flooding into Rey’s body through the window in Kotta’s mind.

“Okay,” Rey says. “Let’s begin.”

Rey closes her eyes, focusing on the feeling of the thin thread of the young woman herself, not the cloud of vaporous, all-consuming unease currently roiling in her body. Her probe is assessing, but the illness is reactive. It isn’t a simple matter of finding something and ripping it out, it’s getting a grip on it enough to find the root of the sickness and destroy it. Like grasping for tuber roots that move in an endless and nebulous cloud. 

Kylo’s Force-healing trick isn’t going to be enough, and Rey’s not eager to draw any more attention to herself with lightsider Force usage than she already has. Her grandfather's threat had been quite clear. So she has to do this the old fashioned way. 

The trouble is that Rey doesn’t personally _know_ Kotta, so it makes healing her difficult. Whatever that necklace had been Sithed into, the sickness resists Rey’s attempts to find its crush it. The illness has progressed to the point where it's hard to see where the Sith ends and the girl begins. 

But that’s life, isn’t it? Sith curses and princesses both want to live, even if they were only made to be used up. 

“Marth,” Rey murmurs, keeping her eyes closed. “Tell me about Kotta.” 

“What- what do you mean?” 

“I mean who is she? What do you like about her?”

Marth’s voice is raspy. “Kotta is kind. She served Severn from the time she was a child, and we met in the refectory when she gave me her extra cheese. One of the inquisitor squires stole mine. She didn't have to, but Kotta gave me her portion. I never forgot that.” 

That’s good. Rey can work with that. Training her focus on the idea of someone who would willingly share her food with someone else, someone who would take a small, quiet step against injustice, Rey re-focuses her attention the way she might adjust a lens on a blaster scope. 

Marth’s soft voice is quiet but strong in the little room. “Kotta is a very talented stitcher. Could have gone to work for Lennix, but she chose not to. She wanted to serve Lady Severn.” 

Kylo’s voice interjects. “ _Why_?”

“Severn saved her life, and Kotta is loyal.”

Rey gets her metal teeth into a seething ball of darkness and begins to pull. It fights. It puts up such a struggle that sweat starts to break out on Rey’s brow as every ounce of her attention and energy goes into attacking the tendrils of Force energy choking her. 

Anger comes to her aid, sweeping up through her body. With a mighty shove, Rey stabs at the energy. Tries to rip it apart. But the harder she shreds, the more the energy seems to wind itself back together. Rey curses. Kotta whimpers. 

Kylo murmurs, “Are servants here allowed to have relationships?” 

“No,” Marth says, her voice thick. 

Rey hates this Sith illness so much, but even her loathing seems inadequate. Hot tears, feverish and furious, prick on her eyelashes, and Rey’s grip on Kotta’s shoulder must be painful by now. She can’t seem to get the core of the illness, can’t crush hard enough, can’t fix it. 

_So weak._

“But you kept seeing her anyway,” Kylo says. He’s so far away now that she can’t even interpret his tone of voice. 

“I _had_ to. Even if it meant lying to the Princess and defying my mandate. Love is like...like being cut in _half_. I didn’t think it would hurt so much.”

Rey is totally adrift, separated by a tide of darkness. Falling. Grabbing. Slashing. Inadequate, not strong enough, _weak._

“Was it worth it?” murmurs Kylo.

Marth’s reply, low and soft as it is, cuts through the haze of blackness as easily as a candle chases off darkness. So simple that it’s almost sacred. 

“If it’s for her, I can do _anything._ And I will.” 

For a moment, Rey is filled with stillness. 

And then she gets her fingers into the darkness inside Kotta Hano and _crushes_ it. It feels like opening a lock, or fixing the fuse box in the heating unit, or zipping up the back of a dress. Easy.

Kotta inhales, Rey’s eyes open, and Marth cries out as both they're hurled back into the world of the living. 

Marth grips Kotta’s hand, crying in earnest now as Kotta inhales deeply. Kylo puts an arm around Rey’s shoulder, holding her steady as she gets to her feet. 

Marth is sobbing, kissing Kotta’s hand, wrist, shoulder, anything she can reach as Kotta blinks against the dim light. The two of them look at each other, both of them crying their joy at the sheer fact of their own survival. They smile at each other with such tenderness that Rey has to turn her face away. 

“Let’s leave them,” she whispers. 

Kylo nods, already guiding her towards the door. 

“Princess,” says a rasping voice. 

Rey turns and meets Kotta’s wide brown eyes. A long moment passes. 

Then the girl says, “I will not forget this.”

Rey’s heart twists. “I’ve saved your life. Promise me you will be careful with it from now on.” 

“I promise,” Kotta says. 

Rey turns her gaze to Marth, her expression trembling and flushed with joy. 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you," Marth says. "I didn't want to burden you. Or make you worry."

"I am always going to worry about you," Rey says. "So please be careful."

She looks at Kylo, holding his molten expression as a new kind of fear enters her life.

She does not tell Marth what she knows she should. _There are some wounds even I can’t protect you from._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please check out [this beautiful moodboard that Ella made for Dark Crown!](https://twitter.com/ella_mercury/status/1242494918444056578) It's so lovely!!!
> 
> Also, Ash made [ this BEAUTIFUL moodbaord too!? ](https://twitter.com/starcrossedrey/status/1240849280170164233)
> 
> And Ishi [ made this aesthetic that's so dark and hauntingly lovely.](https://twitter.com/rinazhas/status/1240648100143923200)
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd really appreciate a comment or a kudos! Check out [my Twitter account](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) for star wars content, memes, and fic updates.


	14. 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if there are any typos! I'm low on spoons this week.

* * *

CHAPTER 14

* * *

"But what was even the point of blowing up the Hosnian System?" Rey says, her arm linked with Kylo's as they process through an upper gallery in the Academy lined with enormous, dimly lit columns. Ostensibly, this room is for observing portraits of former Sith masters, for quiet reflection and mediation on the Eternal Agony.

But it's too poorly lit to see the portraits, which makes it the best possible place to gossip in public. Her dress is a frothy, dark gray confection with gossamer sleeves that sit in useless adornment at the crest of her shoulders, and an elaborate lace bodice that trails down into a gem studded haze of tulle skirts. It flows behind her and makes soft rushing noises in the still air. Her crown sits heavy on her head, her hair loose and unstyled without Marth to do it. 

Kylo leans his head down, speaking very quietly that they might not be overheard by the Sith acolytes who occasionally disrupt the solitude of the space. The acolytes walk with uncanny coordination in small clusters, heads bowed, speaking in the chattering little shorthand speech they use when speaking of the Arcane. 

"It was a show of fear. An enormous- I don't know, a death blow, so to speak," he says, frowning. 

Kylo’s voice is low, his grip on her hand firm and warm and unnecessary. In the days since their incident in the Throne Room, he’s taken to following her everywhere, looming behind her like a wandering boulder, scowling viciously at everyone. Rey hates that she likes it so much. 

When they’re alone, which is rare and delicious, she peppers him with questions. Some of them, he answers. 

"Did it work?" Rey says, desperately curious to hear the story of the war told through an outside perspective.

"In the sense that it eradicated the Galactic Senate, yes. Did you hear about it, all the way out here?"

“I felt it.” Rey's eyes wander down the long, cavernous hallway, trying to remember the exact moment she sensed it. "I wasn't feeling well, that day, so it only registered a little. But I remember the feast the Generals had that night. There was a great deal of drinking."

He doesn’t smile. “If I’d known about you then, things would have gone differently.”

“What does that mean?” she says.

His mouth twists. “Two of us together? We could have killed Snoke much earlier. If I’d known what it would feel like to…” and here he trails off, gesturing vaguely at her with a pent up look in his eyes.

Rey turns her face up to look at him more closely, studying the edge of frustrated unease in his eyes. 

Rey clears her throat. "Kylo. You're the Supreme Leader of the First Order, aren't you?"

That gets his attention. "Yes."

"Do your Generals know where you are? Did you tell them where you were going, or what you found?"

"They think I'm on a mission to retrieve a Sith artifact. I told them I'd be gone for days," he says. 

Rey does a mental calendar check in her head. "And it's been nearly a week now. Won't they... be worried?"

"I expect," Kylo says on an exhale, "That my second in command has committed some sort of act of treason by now."

"But you don't know for sure," she hedges. 

What she wants to know, more than anything, is if he can leave. Or rather, if he’s _thinking_ about leaving. Rey has little doubt that if he tries an escape, he won’t make it far. She never could. But then, he found his way here, didn’t he? Maybe he has a way. 

"Are you mining for information, little tyrant?" he says, canting his body slightly as he pulls them to a stop between two pillars, dipping their bodies into deeper shadows. “Worried I’d leave you?”

The look in his eyes isn't entirely friendly. It reminds her of something. The gleam of a glow panel just before it flickers out entirely. The point of a knife in firelight.

“You killed a Grand Admiral for me,” Rey says. “I feel optimistic that you don’t view me casually.”

He gives her a keen, sharp look. “Did I frighten you?”

“No more than usual,” she murmurs. 

He reaches out and brushes a strand of hair away from her face with the easy casualness of someone who feels entitled to that kind of small, intimate act. It should disturb her, that familiarity. 

He reaches up and touches her face with his gloved hands, holding her head steady. 

“You remember what I told you?” he says, dipping his head down and running his nose against her cheek. Scenting her. It’s scandalous. She should not allow it. But the warmth of his body is staticky where he’s touching her, and that warm, safe, good feeling comes back.

“That you’re frightening?” she guesses. 

He chuckles as he presses his mouth against the side of her jaw, gentle and quiet. One of his hands traces up the side of her arm, the touch slow and electric and unhurried. 

“No, princess. I told you that I came here for you.” 

Rey's breathing goes stuttery and her heart starts to pound. The way he makes her feel is so much better than anything else ever has, and the wanting, shivering need between her legs makes her terribly afraid that nothing except him will get her here like this. What if this is it for her? What if she _needs_ him now, and she's always going to want him to touch her? 

"But are you going to be content to _stay_ here?" 

The words are breathless as his careful hand winds its way up to the side of her neck. His fingers grasping the base of her skull. His thumb lingering on the pulse point as if to test its measure. 

"Do you want me to stay?" he says, looking right at her.

"Not if it means-" she says, her thoughts drifting as he begins to kiss her neck. "Not if it means you have to die a little to do it." 

“I can take a little death, if it’s from you.”

The way his mouth feels against the soft of her neck is undoing her at the seams. He kisses her like he doesn’t give a damn about literally anything else. Anyone could see them. This will be the topic of every whispered conversation for the rest of the week. 

But then he gently brushes the gossamer, decorative sleeves of her dress aside, letting them pool on her upper shoulders to expose her collar bones. He kisses lower, that great body of his bent to press against hers. 

The wanting of it loosens her tongue. 

“You don’t have to stay,” she says, gasping as he kisses the swell of her breasts, one hand sliding up the bodice of her dress. “But don’t you dare leave me.” 

He groans into her neck and lifts her up with two hands, pressing her mouth to his with crushing strength as he all but carries her backwards, pressing her into the column. 

“I’m going to give you everything,” he says, so intense that it’s very nearly a threat. 

“Teach me to fight,” she says, leaning her head back. 

“Yes, princess,” he says, shuddering under her touch as she brings a leg up to hitch around his hip. “Yes.”

When he hitches up the hem of her dress, she gasps into his mouth, feeling the rough skin of his hands as his fingers claw at her, trying to get higher. Calf, thigh, hip. 

Rey moans when he steps between her thighs and presses her into the stone, feeling every inch of him through the fine brocade of his shirt, the thick, durable canvas of his pants. There’s nothing about him that feels breakable, nothing that would crack if it met her edges.

He shoves his erection against the bodice of her dress, grunting a little as she writhes against him.

Rey feels like a whole different person like this, flushed and wanton and hitched against a wall. Anyone could see them. No one would ever dare to try and stop them. 

“I’m going to tear you apart,” Rey says, savaging his mouth, her hand wandering between them, hunting for the hard length of him, unsure what she’s doing but knowing that she wants to take him in her hand more than anything else. 

When she gets her hand around him over his clothes he jerks against her touch, a breath coming out through clenched teeth.

“You’re big here, too,” she whispers, a little in awe. 

“Rey,” he grunts, bucking into her hand. “Where is the nearest room with a door?” 

Rey slides her hand up and down the length of him, her fingers reaching for the waistband of his pants. What would it feel like to take him in her hand, skin to skin? She wants to take him in her mouth, and the desire is so strong, so sure that it makes her feel weak in the knees. 

Breathily, she says, “I want to see you. Here.”

His eyes flash, something dangerous in his gaze as he grips her hand before she can grab him. “Not here. Tonight. Someplace where I can make you call out my name as loud as your greedy little heart-" 

A crisp voice interrupts. 

“In the name of the _mother-_ ” squeaks Severn from a few meters away. 

Kylo’s breath is ragged as he lets Rey slide down the wall, turning with all the great mass of his body to glower at the Dathomirian standing there. He doesn’t make any attempt to hide his erection, which makes Rey feel something rich and possessive and proud. 

That’s for her. She did that.

Kylo looks ready to throw Severn over the balcony, so Rey interjects. 

“Kylo, wait,” Rey says, putting a placating hand on his forearm as she tugs up her sleeve and tries to right herself. There's nothing she can do about the flush on her cheeks. 

Kylo gives her a look of intense irritation. “I was busy _ravaging_ you. You were going to elaborate on the various ways you were going to tear me limb from limb. I beg you to please _make her go away_.”

Rey doesn’t exactly feel all that steady herself, her desire making her clench her thighs and shift her weight from foot to foot. But Severn wouldn’t interrupt something she could use for ammo without a good reason. 

“Were you following us?” Rey says. 

Severn, arms crossed and gaze fixed on the ceiling, sighs loudly. “The Inquisitor is on his way, and I felt strongly that you would enjoy his interruption even less than mine.”

Kylo mutters something faintly murderous.

Severn rolls her eyes. “If you try killing everyone who remotely inconveniences her, there won’t be a soul left standing.”

Kylo’s silence is ominous. 

“Thank you, Severn.” And then, taking a few steps forward and lowering her voice, she adds, “Is Kotta-”

“I’ll thank you to kindly _not_ drag my page’s name into your Jedi nonsense.” But then, very quietly, she says, “She is recovering.”

The silence that stretches between them is brittle, but not hostile. With a lift of her chin, Severn gives Rey a firm nod. 

“And you,” Severn says, turning to Kylo. “You’re very late, aren’t you?”

Rey glances back at Kylo, whose expression is unreadable. “Late for what?”

“For the war council meeting,” Severn says. “Your first ever, as I’m told.”

Rey inhales sharply, glowering at Kylo in alarm.

“What are you thinking, missing that meeting? You _murdered_ the grand admiral, you need to do your duty to appear before the Emperor. Go,” she hisses, pointing at the stairs, annoyed that he hadn’t bothered to tell her that he was missing a war meeting in order to kiss her into a stone column. 

He takes a pointed step towards her. “I’m _busy_.” 

“If you skip this meeting, you’ll put yourself in danger,” she snarls, amazed at the speed that her desire has turned into anger. The two feelings don’t feel all that different, in a lot of ways. 

“You want me to leave you in this state?” he says. 

Severn makes a noise of faint disgust. 

“Yes,” Rey says. “And _please_ try to make things work with Anders so that he doesn’t try to have you murdered in your sleep.”

Kylo barks a laugh that is utterly without mirth. “I’d sooner kiss a sithspawn.”

“I can _arrange that,_ ” Rey snaps. 

“The only one allowed to kill me in my sleep,” he says, closing the distance between them to tilt her face up. “Is you.”

“Get. Out,” she snaps, grabbing his shirt and pulling his head down to kiss him again. 

Severn sighs. Kylo grins, cupping her cheek once before he straightens. 

“Now, go,” she says. 

“As you command, princess,” he says casually, walking by her and letting one hand drag across her upper back as he passes. Casual and easy. 

Severn gives her a steady look as Kylo disappears down the hallway. 

Watching him go makes something in Rey twist and coil up into a little knot. She doesn't want him to go. It feels like a perversion of something natural and good- like being near him is supposed to be the default and they are doing something subversive and strange by separating.

"I'm not interested in your opinions on anything you just saw," Rey says tightly, turning to leave. “And if you repeat it I’ll have your bed clothes set on fire.”

Severn falls into step beside Rey, apparently unbothered by the threat. It was empty anyway. There’s no good trying to hide that she and Kylo are… connected. At least if Severn reports it, she’ll tell the story in an interesting way.

“Anders went to see the fleet today,” Severn says quietly. “I suppose he means to pick up where Voschek left off."

Rey scowls. "How nice for the new Grand Admiral."

Her contempt is undisguised. 

"Nothing good will come from alienating him," Severn scolds, crossing her arms. It's unexpectedly casual, for her. "He's a powerful man. And he likes you. Don't be a child about this." 

"Don't lecture me," she says. 

"Someone has to,” Severn says. "It's my role. Lecturer-in-chief."

"I never hired you," Rey grumbles.

"I never applied. But here we are. And I'm going to keep talking, because you'll listen to it from me." 

"No I won't," Rey scowls. 

"Anders Vellian wants you in his pocket," Severn says. "Everyone knows it. Your pet Jedi certainly seems to understand it, if his murderous stares are to be understood."

Rey rolls her eyes. "Anders can want me all he wants.”

“He will. He _does._ So antagonizing him with public indecencies with the man who _murdered_ his superior officer is-”

Rey pinches the bridge of her nose, hating that Severn is right. Something about the way that Severn is talking makes Rey feel intensely agitated. Like this is a carefully planned conversation that Severn has been meaning to bring up. Like it's important. 

"He tried to have Kylo killed," Rey snaps. 

“A murder never bothered you before,” Severn says. 

Rey glares at her. “Yes, it did. It always does. I don’t court death for fun.”

“Then give up Kylo Ren,” Severn says. “If Anders wants Kylo dead it's because he thinks that he's a threat to him. Anders is acquisitive, but he looked absolutely furious that he got the Grand Admiralty.” 

“It’s what he wanted,” Rey insists. “He always wanted power.”

“Anders always prefers to stay at court, he never wanted a position that will have him off-planet for the rest of his career. And didn’t you see his face when he was making his oaths?"

"How did you even see his face?" Rey says irritably. "You weren't supposed to be in that meeting."

"You weren't supposed to be there either," Severn says calmly. "And yet..."

Rey's mouth twists. "Fair point."

Severn lifts her chin at the concession, fairly preening with smugness. 

"He locked you in his office, which makes me think he was always going to try and have Kylo executed and he didn't want you there. Which means he either wanted to protect your feelings, or he thought you posed a risk of stopping his plans." 

"He doesn't care about my feelings."

"So assume that Anders doesn't underestimate you. Which means he's smart."

It's the first compliment Severn has ever given her, and the shock of it is such that Rey comes to a dead halt in the middle of the long, dark hallway, unexpectedly warmed. 

"Severn," Rey says, pressing a hand to her chest. 

"Don't start," Severn snaps. "I just think that if Anders Vellian thinks you have impact on policy, then so do I. I've never underestimated you. I just... regular estimate you."

"That's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"I didn't come here to swap secrets and braid hair. The point is that many people in the court are of the opinion that there should not be two of you Jedi types running around. Your life is in danger."

"Which is different from every other day of my life, how?" Rey sighs.

"Kylo Ren killed the Grand Admiral. He's officially playing the game, Rey.” Severn gives her a sharp look. “You know that Anders wants you alive. Can you say the same of Kylo?”

Rey eyes Severn coolly. “What are you angling at, Severn?”

She takes a step closer. “I’m saying that Anders Vellian has demonstrated an interest in your survival. Don’t throw that connection away before you’re _entirely_ certain the other man who wants into your bed can say the same.” 

Before Rey can do anything, a third voice interjects, and this one fills Rey with bone-deep fear. 

"Ladies, good afternoon."

They both turn to see the figure of the Alchemist walking towards them. 

In the light of the gallery, he looks small and out of place. Like a deep-water fish someone dragged up to the surface, goggle-eyed and bleary. 

The last time Rey saw him was the night Kylo arrived. The guards had dragged him from his bed. In the insanity of the ensuing week, she’d all but forgotten him.

He looks the same as ever. Old in that generic, indeterminate way that makes it difficult to guess his age. Of course, with his skillset, he could be hundreds of years old. It's impossible to tell.

Automatically, her body tenses in remembered fury. 

The Alchemist's eyes are trained on the crown on her head, his eyes gleaming with a manic pleasure. They say that Sith Alchemy makes you go just a little insane. Bit by bit, the work eats you up from the inside out, until you can see little difference between your creations and the people who have them. 

He's not exactly a popular figure in the court. 

Severn sniffs, disdain in every line of her lithe body, and Rey takes Severn by the arm, wanting to present a united front.

The Alchemist affects a shallow bow when he reaches her, his eyes still on the metal circlet on her head. 

"Greetings, majesty."

Rey just stands there, waiting for him to speak. 

He appears to need no prodding. "I've been informed that the Sith Crown was damaged in a an unfortunate misadventure?"

The faint edge of sweaty glee in his voice is deeply unsettling. It's slippery and artificial, like biting into a steam bun and tasting coppery metal instead. 

"That's hardly your concern," Rey says coldly. 

He takes a step forward, his arm outstretched as if to touch her. 

Severn hisses. "You dare-" 

The Alchemist instantly drops his hand, wetting his lips with a flick of his tongue. "I have a special missive from the Emperor himself. I'm to retrieve the crown and repair it."

Rey swallows, watching the Alchemist's hands twitch at his side like he can't wait to retrieve his crown.

"When I'm ready, I'll send it to you," Rey manages, swallowing down a tide of revulsion and dislike.

"I'm afraid," he says, taking another step forward, "That now is the time that has been ordained."

The viciousness that rises to her tongue takes her aback, a little. But every atom in her nature hates the hand that forged the instrument of her torture. 

"If you bring your hand near my head, you won't get it back." 

Hating her grandfather feels a little like hurting herself. But him? Him, she can hate. 

That gets the old man's attention. His eyes snap to hers, skittering and watery. 

"My princess," he says, his voice almost a whine. "Please, don't put me in the position of displeasing your esteemed Emperor." 

Severn mutters something in Dathomirian that has a very hard consonant at the end. 

"Do you remember the night you first presented me with this crown?" Rey hears herself say. 

The Alchemist's eyes focus on hers for just a moment. His expression flickers through emotions-- recognition, remembrance, and then fear.

"Yes," he says quietly.

"Do you remember how I screamed? The first time?" Rey says.

The Alchemist keeps his mouth shut, his eyes flicking from her face to the crown. 

Without any additional comment, Rey slides her hand to the belt at her waist and takes out the beautiful, gleaming dagger that Kylo gave her. Just putting her hands on it makes her feel less unsteady. 

The Alchemist's eyes go very wide as he sees Rey unsheathe it.

At her side, Severn grins. Like this is all very good fun. 

"You can rely on my memory," Rey says. "I remember every second of that agony, and every second since." 

She lets the dagger rest casually in her hand. Pointed in his direction.

"I am but a tool in the Emperor's employ," the Alchemist says unsteadily. "Princess."

"And yet without me you'd be nothing. You'd have no position without a human vessel to control, would you? It’s made to fit my head, to match my Force signature. If something were to happen to me, you’d be worse than useless," she hisses. “Your chief achievement rendered useless. You understand?” 

Her hatred must have seeped into the muddy morass of his mind, because real fear flashes in his eyes. 

"You can't kill me," the Alchemist hisses. "The Emperor needs me."

“I know that, you irritating relic,” she snaps. “But you’d do well to remember what will happen to _you_ if anything happens to _me._ Betray me again and I’ll tie you to a stake in the lightning fields and let the skies have you.” 

"Princess," he stutters. 

Rey brings the dagger up with a satisfying ring of swift metal through the air.

With a flick, she lifts the crown out of her hair with the tip of the blade, letting the metal crown slide down the metal and clatter noisily against the guard of the handle. With as much contempt as she feels, she holds the blade out towards him, point-first with the crown balanced precariously on the knife edge. 

Alchemist looks up like an addict presented with a new dose, his eyes glassy and covetous. 

"I will remember you," Rey whispers as he reaches out to take it, but before he can take it flicks the blade and sends the crown tumbling into the air. It clatters and rolls, skittering down the hallway like something living and furious.

The Alchemist flinches like she's struck him, darting after the crown with an almost parental gasp of panicked concern.

Rey stares at his retreating form, watching with contempt as he picks it up and strokes it like a lover with a portrait of a beloved.

Severn doesn’t even bother waiting until he’s out of earshot. 

"You should poison him."

Rey snorts. "I don't think that's the kind of offense I'd survive."

The two women look at each other for a moment, and Rey wonders if Severn is also marveling at the strange, twisted life they're living. And then they both start to giggle, stilted and surprised, but real and bright.

Severn clears her throat, getting control of herself first. "Well. Good evening, princess." But before she leaves, Severn hesitates, looking up at Rey with a glance of silent, intent seriousness. "I wonder if you would be so good as to loan me your page for the evening."

"Why?" Rey says. 

Severn’s mouth is set in a hard line, but her expression is deliberate, careful, and laced with meaning. Rey wonders if Severn has always tried to talk like this; saying one thing but trying to indicate something else. 

"She's incompetent. I would like to pair her with my page for the evening, so that they might share notes on how to present a member of the royal household. Your hemlines of late have been, frankly, a disgrace." 

Kotta. 

Ah.

"I'll send Marth to your quarters for the evening. Mind you send her back to me in one piece," Rey says, lowering her voice.

“Please,” Severn scoffs. “I’ll send you a bill for all the trinkets that she breaks, the vexing creature. If you’ll excuse me, majesty?” 

Rey nods, exasperated but not angry. Severn gives Rey a half-hearted bow and turns around, swishing down the hallway in a flutter of black skirts and haughty-head tosses. 

Rey watches her go. 

Even without the crown on her head, she feels the weight of it. Like maybe that awful feeling will always be with her now. A reminder that at any point, it could all be taken from her. 

Severn’s words fill her with unease. The Alchemist’s watery stare fills her with dread. And Kylo Ren is sitting in a War Meeting gaining access to secrets she’s never had access to. Secrets he might or might not share with her. 

Sighing, she sheathes the dagger. There’s nothing for it. She’s going to have to spy on that meeting. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took inspo from [ this Galia Lahav Spring 2018 Wedding Dress](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2f/7c/98/2f7c98838db985e89e70c58fec24f1ca.jpg) for Rey's outfit in this one, but the skirt is different and it's not white in the fic, it's a dark gray. And she has a belt on it. Because Marth isn't there to stop her from doing that. 
> 
> Karolina made [ this BEAUTIFUL illustration of Rey in a smoking hot dress!? ](https://twitter.com/Kariito_Chii/status/1243036047073837056) Thank you so much, Karolina! I'm so grateful! 
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd really appreciate a comment or a kudos! Check out [my Twitter account](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) for star wars content, memes, and fic updates.


	15. 15

* * *

CHAPTER 15

* * *

The walls of the War Room are immensely tall and narrow, which normally gives the room a coffin-like effect when you walk into it. The long table that stretches down the room is a severe, dark color.

But all this is less important than the room’s best feature: the enormous stone beams that bisect the enormously tall ceilings. The beams must be seven meters off the ground, a fact Rey is _acutely_ aware of as she opens a service hatch and begins to crawl across one. 

The service hatch is meant to give access to the huge, crude chandeliers that light the room during times of high ceremony, but tonight the room is lit only by floor braziers, dark and shadowy and perfect for eavesdropping. 

Rey crawls out the beam a little bit, just enough to give her a view of the room below. This was much easier when she was a kid. 

Belowher , Anders is prowling up and down the room, looking tall and impressive in his new Grand Admiral's uniform. He’s in the middle of a speech, but the Emperor is nowhere to be seen. The rest of the other members of the War Council are in attendance, including Kylo, sitting at one end of the table looking faintly murderous. 

"-finished inspecting the fleet and have found it all in working order. Given the accelerated rate of affairs, I propose we begin fleet movements immediately."

"Kylo, what do you think?" says the rough voice of Commander Draxtae. "Given your extensive experience as Supreme Leader, I'm sure we'd be very glad to hear it."

Every head turns to look at Kylo. Maybe they're wondering if Kylo will answer Draxtae's insolence with the same treatment he gave Voschek. 

But Kylo is unmoved.

"I am at my Emperor's disposal," Kylo says calmly.

Anders paces a few steps closer to Kylo. "Are your officers en route?"

"As per your request," Kylo says. "They are."

Physically, Rey was already holding very still and quiet. But Kylo’s calm, unsurprised tone makes something inside her go even stiller. The quiet, dawning realization type of stillness. The stone under her fingers feels colder, suddenly. 

He hadn't said anything to her about making contact with his generals. She'd thought he was as trapped as she was. 

Anders exhales. “Good. Bring your second in command up on a holo, would you? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Don’t trust me, Vellian?” Kylo purrs. 

“Not a whit.”

There's a moment of brittle silence, and Rey wonders what he'll do. A minute ago, she'd have felt confident guessing. But suddenly it all seems murkier. 

With immense calm, Kylo withdraws a commlink from his pocket and sets it on the table. Two concise, practiced flicks and the image of a man stands there, dressed in a crisp black uniform and aggressively coiffed hair. 

"Supreme Leader," says the crisp, nasal voice of the man. 

"Hux," Kylo says. "I'm here with the commanding officers of the Final Order. They're very interested in a status report."

There’s something commanding, forceful and new in his voice. Of course, she’d seen him throw power around. She’s seen him kill a man. But like this- sitting at a table she’ll never be allowed to join, barking orders at a military uniform while the entire Final Order commanding staff watch with calm tolerance… it feels different. 

It feels frightening. 

Of course he could have access to his Generals. What did Rey think, that he was telling the truth? That he would ignore his duty, shirk everything, give up his dearest ambitions to… what? Kissing her? Loving her? It’s not like he could have set aside the Emperor’s expectations. It’s not like she would even _want_ him to be disempowered and alone. 

She feels like a _fool._ The reminder that he will be elevated to a place she will never be allowed… it stings. 

Kylo's eyes flick upwards, as if sensing something before Rey masters herself, quelling herself back into herself, hiding as furiously as she can. Kylo looks like an animal scenting blood the way his eyes scan the room. Is he really so attuned to her as to be able to pick up on her from this distance?

 _Peace is a lie._

Rey closes her eyes and counts to ten, trying to master her emotions. 

_That was the last time I will allow you to run from me_

The holoprojected man on the table begins to speak. 

"The First Order has received our new directive and have begun a summary re-distribution of the fleet. Presently, the vast majority are engaged in Mid-Rim conflicts. Extricating them has taken... some time and effort."

Anders looks pleased. "Excellent."

"If I may speak," Hux says carefully.

Kylo cuts Anders off before he can speak. “Procede, Hux.”

Rey wishes she could _throw_ something at him. Severn is right– they can’t afford to antagonize Anders. 

Hux clears his throat. "What exactly is the new directive? We've received precious little information. And some of it seems… conflicting."

Abruptly, the sound of a chair being shoved back fills the room as Kylo gets out of his chair and puts both hands on the table, towering above the figure of the man. 

"You've received little information because I didn't see fit to give it to you. It's not your place to question me, Hux. Stick to the plan."

He sounds so cold, so commanding and unkind. Well, he never exactly seemed _kind,_ but she's looking at now feels so different than the man she knows. Angry. Irritable. Frightening.

Had he been hiding this from her? Lying, with every gentle caress and soft word? Is this who he really is, underneath it all? Or has she sensed this side of him all along, and it was part of the reason she liked him? Her self-control is rapidly slipping away from her, and Rey feels a short, sharp spark in her chest. Something flaring and alive, a jolt of recognition as he looks straight up at her. 

_There should never be two of them._

Their eyes meet. She has no idea what her face shows, but for the half second that he looks at her, his eyes are wide and hard. Then he looks back down, his posture stiff, his jaw tight. 

There’s a sound of screaming metal as the doors open, and then the Emperor walks in, dressed in his usual black with his cloak up. Every single being gets to their feet, and even Rey feels the impulse to bow or grovel or bend just at the sight of him. Rey uses every ounce of her concentration to hold herself close, to stay small and quiet and remain unnoticed. 

Anders bows, murmuring, “Welcome, Emperor. An unexpected honor.”

The Emperor ignores him, walking slowly down the long room towards Kylo.

"Ah, Kylo. Reconnecting with your fleet, I see. They must be glad to hear from you."

"Everything is proceeding." 

"Good," the Emperor says, his slow pace almost agonizing. His cloak is a fine, silk garment that drags on the floor.

On the holoprojector, Hux strikes the most _rigid_ military salute Rey’s ever seen. 

The Emperor comes to a stop across the table from Kylo, looking at the First Order officer with bland disinterest. "Ah, one of your First Order men, is it?"

“Yes, Emperor.”

“Cut the line,” the Emperor says. 

Kylo obeys the command without a moment's hesitation, clicking the button and sending the image of the man into blackness.

Anders clears his throat. “It’s a secure comm-line, my Lord. I saw to that myself.”

“Regardless. The time is almost right. Until then, we must shroud ourselves in darkness. Communicate only that which is absolutely imperative.”

“Yes, my lord.”

The Emperor resumes his walk, headed for the top of the table and the heavy, high-backed chair reserved for him. 

"Our first priority will be to secure the hyperlanes," the Emperor says. "I'll rely on you for that, my young friend. We'll take the advance guard of the Final Fleet and strike the Core Worlds a mighty blow."

"Yes, my lord," Kylo says, bringing his hand to his heart and bowing. From this angle, she can see the top of his head, the outlines of his face thrown into contrast. But there’s a grim determination in the lines of his jaw, and not an ounce of hesitation. Maybe, on some level she'd hoped to see some conflict in his eyes. There is none.

"Once the Core Worlds have been subdued, we will take the rest of the galaxy to task. But I'll have no skirmishes, no drawn out outer rim negotiations. I want the heart of the galaxy bent to submission or obliterated. Whichever comes first."

Anders has an odd look in his eyes, a careful blankness even as the rest of the generals begin to clap their hands and rumble low noises of approval and eagerness. 

By Kylo, though. His eyes are full of meaning. His gaze swells with intensity. A gleam of a long-envisioned dream come to fruition. Even from this height, she can almost feel it. A passionate longing. A focused intensity that she recognizes. He looks at her like that, sometimes. It’s so strong that she feels an echo of it in her own chest, a metallic hunger, a crushing desire to destroy, possess, consume. 

"And once the carnage has settled, I will install you in your rightful place at my side," the Emperor says to Kylo. "As my sword and my hand."

"And we shall have peace," Anders says, his voice flinty with resolve. 

"We shall have power," the Emperor says, turning to look directly at Kylo. 

Rey closes her eyes, thinking of what she'd seen when she'd been trapped in Kylo's mind, watching people claw at him, trying to get close, trying to use him. 

Had it really been power that drove him the whole time? Has that really been the thing he wants most? When she’d been in his head, it didn’t feel like that. It felt like pain. Like he would do anything, _anything_ to escape it. 

And she’d understood that sense so intimately. That feeling that- if someone was using you, stealing from you, hurting you- you had a right to find a way to feel better. She’d taken that feeling and climbed into his bed with it, hadn’t she? Maybe that feeling has carried him to the feet of the Emperor. She supposes she can understand that. 

"Do you know why Snoke deserved the death you brought upon him?"

The room goes very still at that, every eye trained fixedly on the Emperor. 

Kylo's voice is thick and raw. 

"He tortured me. He lied to me."

"No," the Emperor says calmly. Coldly. "Because he denied you the power you desperately needed. And you now serve me, because I offer you no such pauper's bargain. Now that you are engaged in the military movements, I pray you remember that. Remember what you are working for."

Rey crawls closer to the edge, knowing what her grandfather is going to say. Knowing that she needs to be looking at Kylo when he says it.

"I will give you everything you ever wanted," the Emperor says. 

Rey's anger balloons. He said that to her once, didn't he? When she was a frightened child, alone and isolated, begging –not for power or riches but for one scrap of love or tenderness. 

And he had promised her power. Riches. Jewels. The fear and respect of everyone. How long has she spent wishing those meager offerings were worth anything? Were anything even close to love?

Kylo stares up at the Emperor, his expression fever bright, and Rey knows that Kylo Ren has not learned that lesson. Not yet.

Anders Vellian speaks, his voice calm and arctic. "If he can give us a victory."

Kylo's voice is rough. "Nothing would stop me. Nothing could."

 _It will taste bitter_ , Rey wants to scream. _It will turn to ash in your hands._

_Look at me, see me, know me, listen to me–_

"Good. Now," says the Emperor, turning quite suddenly and looking _directly_ up at Rey. "Granddaughter. Do join us."

He smiles, clenches a fist, and the beam she’s holding onto begins to crack. Rey bites back a scream as the beam rolls, throwing her off so that she tumbles through the air so fast that she barely has time to react–

A wall of Force energy slams into her, slowing her fall with punishing strength. Kylo Ren’s Force grip on her body is way, way too tight, but it slows her enough that she doesn’t dash her brains out on the stone floor. 

Rey's choking in that grip, even as it is the only thing saving her. He's holding her too tight, she's clawing at her throat, it _hurts_. The minute her feet touch the ground she stumbles forward, the intense grip on her body easing as she gasps for breath, trying to catch up. 

Anders is closest to her, so he reaches out to catch her before she all but falls over. When she looks up, Kylo is looking at her with such a stricken look on his face that she almost doesn’t hear Anders when he says, “Princess, lean on me.”

A torrent of emotions boil inside her as she stares at Kylo. Anger. Fear. Gratitude.

He didn't let her head hit the ground. 

The Emperor’s voice is very cold. “Let this be a reminder, granddaughter, that rising to great heights can sometimes be dangerous.”

Anders hisses something, and Rey shoves him off to glower at her grandfather. 

“I could have died.”

“And yet, you live,” he says simply. “A talent of yours, isn’t it?”

“Just what would happen if I died?” Rey says, her voice low and throaty. With a jolt, she realizes that she is _threatening_ her grandfather.

The Emperor’s eyes narrow. “Perhaps you need a reminder, granddaughter, of who it was that put you in the lofty position you find yourself.”

“The crown is with the Alchemist,” Rey whispers, terrified and furious and triumphant.

He smiles. “I know, dear one.” 

That smile kills the sense of power stone dead. The Emperor turns to Kylo, and Rey takes a step forward, as if she could protect him, somehow. The Emperor is looking at Kylo, but speaking directly to her. 

"Rey, I would like you to do something for me. As an experiment," the Emperor says. 

No. No, no, no. The last time he spoke like this, he told her to kill him. She cannot do it. Cannot even try. 

Rey's breath catches. "Yes?"

"Tell him that you love him."

All her life, Rey has made a point to do what her grandfather has told her to do. To obey every command, follow every whim, indulge every order. Even so, she’s managed to hold something back. To give in without giving up or letting go of something precious and essential.

Give him exactly what he asks, but not what he truly wants.

This lesson is like that.

 _I own you,_ his eyes say, staring her down. _I own every bit of you. There is not part of you I cannot command._

Kylo makes a noise of low, growling protest. Even Anders looks taken aback. Rey looks at Kylo, her heart in her throat, fear like a beating heart in her chest. Tears prick her eyes. 

It’s one more thing, isn’t it? One more thing she will do. But it feels like the worst kind of betrayal. Something like that, something precious and vital that she might even _want_ to say to him someday- he will take even that moment from her, too. 

The Emperor stares at her, cold and malicious. "Well? We're all waiting. I'm sure the young man would be delighted to hear it."

Rey closes her eyes. "Kylo-" 

"Stop it," Kylo snarls. Rey opens her eyes, and he's charging forward, crossing around the table, furious. "Not like that-" 

Something light fills her chest at the ferocious, furious rightness of the outrage in his voice. 

_No one should take that from you,_ his eyes say. _And I never will._

She takes exactly one step towards him, and then a wall of Force lightning hits her. Her grandfather's hands are alight with it, and the electricity fills her body so fast that she's nearly blinded by it, every atom of her being suddenly set alight, trilling with a pain like shards of glass being ground into tender flesh.

She screams. She screams again and again. 

And then it stops. 

The great tide of pain evacuates out of her the same way it arrived. Unexpected and inevitable. 

She's on the ground again, slumped uselessly against Kylo, who is trying to help her sit up, pulling her into a fierce, tight embrace. 

“Breathe,” he’s telling her. “Let it pass through you.”

Rey spasms, twitching in his arms, her skin _burning_ with pain. The entrance point must be the place in front of her heart. It hurts so badly that a whimper of pain slips through her teeth.

Behind them, the Emperor walks calmly to the enormous chair at the head of the room and sits in it. Anders is staring at her like he's never even seen her. She glares at him. Glares at all of them. Let them look. Let them see that this is what their empire is built on. Let Anders lose his little illusions about who she is or what she can take. 

The Emperor is impassive. Bored. 

"An unfortunate lesson, isn't it? To learn that one's actions have consequences. I warned you not to defy me. I _warned_ you."

She hates him.

She hates him _so much._

“Stop talking,” she gasps, her voice so quiet that she doubts he can even hear it. Kylo brushes the hair back from her temple and looks down at her as the Emperor sighs.

“What a pretty drama. Two lovers. The _strongest beings_. Clutching at trifles while the galaxy waits at their doorstep. Pathetic.”

Kylo is rocking her back and forth. “Don’t hold onto it, let go of it,” he’s whispering. “Hold onto me, look at _me._ ” 

Rey is so angry, so damn angry, that it’s turning into something else. It hunts through her body, desperate to find a way out of the prison of her silence, her inactivity, her uselessness. 

She shrugs out of Kylo’s embrace. She staggers to her feet. 

Not dead. Unkillable. _Alive_. 

Rey clenches a fist and the long table currently occupied by the entire commanding officership of the Final Order begins to splinter and crack.

With a sound like sandstorm rending through a brittle forest, it splinters down the middle, reaching down the length of the wood until it splits the whole surface in two. The two pieces fall heavily onto the floor with a sound like an iron drum being struck, and people scream and jump back in alarm, and Rey pulls the neckline of her dress with a yank, exposing the fresh red welt over her heart, spidering red lines inching out over pale skin.

It looks as ugly as it feels. 

“You can’t do it,” Rey whispers, talking straight to the Emperor. "You can't, like I can't."

The Emperor looks at her, his lips pulled back, his eyes baleful. Kylo takes two steps forward, coming up behind her. Looming at her flank. Her grandfather looks above her, locking eyes with Kylo Ren as a mocking smile crosses his lips. 

The air cackles with the tinders of spectacular violence.

Rey is ready for it. Ready for him to reach out and punish her. He's been holding back, letting her get away with far, far too much. He hasn't taken from her in days, she's literally never felt stronger, even like this, with her skin blistering and her teeth chattering and her rage like a second heartbeat. 

Rey reaches behind her. Takes Kylo’s hand in hers. 

When she looks back at him, his expression is tormented. Wretched and hunted. And then it all happens so _fast_. 

Kylo puts a hand out. Covers her eyes. She’s in the middle of asking him what he’s doing when all at once she understands. 

Unconsciousness covers her like a soft blanket, and then it bears down on her and begins to smother her. 

She fights it, but he’s stronger than her, and he was always going to be.

He has the uncommon _cruelty_ to hold her with such tenderness as her body goes slack– as she sinks towards the ground and the darkness. 

The Emperor laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *sweats*
> 
> SORRY this chapter is a little shorter and also sorry in general- the next section is REALLY long and I can't get it in this chapter even though it ends at a place I'd rather not stop!!!!! I'm gonna see if i can get the next update out a bit sooner because IM REALLY INTO IT
> 
> Katie did[ this beautiful drawing of Rey in her gown from the last chapter](https://twitter.com/madamegaston/status/1246205920025038849) (and this chapter as well, I guess, since they're set in the same day) and it's so BEAUTIFUL!!!! Ahhh thank you katie!!!
> 
> StarDisasaters made [ this BEAUTIFUL illustration of Rey!!!](https://twitter.com/StarDisasters/status/1247497513411567616) Thank you so much! She looks so FIERCE!!!! I love how you did her expression!
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd really appreciate a comment or a kudos! Check out [my Twitter account](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) for star wars content, memes, and fic updates. 
> 
> You can also... yell at me.... there.... for crimes..


	16. 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heads up for sexual content! 
> 
> Please jump down to the end note for specific notes about the kind of sex they have if you would like to know that going in.

* * *

**SIXTEEN**

* * *

For the second time in her life, Rey wakes up in her own bed, filled with the acute sense that Kylo Ren is sitting next to her. Blinking, she adjusts to the arrival of sound, thought, feeling, emotion. For a minute, she just sits there, perfectly still and comfortable. He’s here. She’s safe. 

What makes her remember, though, is the feeling of the burns on her skin, prickly and hot where they spread from her chest out up to her arms and neck. Whatever Kylo had done to her, not even he could stop that particular sting. 

It comes back to her in a wave. The rage. The power. The sudden, smothering blackness. 

Rey sits up, awake now, and looks at Kylo where he’s sitting at the end of her bed, his mouth twisted. 

“Rey,” he says, very calmly like he’s talking to a frightened animal. 

She kicks him as _hard as she can._

He’s surprised, so the blow lands on his chest. He glares up at her, grabbing for her foot as she pulls it back to strike again, and when he gets his hand around her ankle she scrambles up, crawling over to him, feeling unhinged.

“You,” Rey snarls, crawling on top of him, flattening him against her bed, sitting on his chest the way she did in Lennix’s studio when they sparred. When she _bested_ him. “You knocked me out.”

He doesn’t struggle, just lets her pin him.

“Yes, I did.”

“You will address me as _your majesty._ ”

He inhales sharply, his nostrils flaring, and she honestly can’t tell if he’s pissed or turned on. His eyes are deep and careful, his breathing measured. Whatever he’s feeling, he is making an intense effort to keep control over it. 

“I’m sorry,” he says. 

“No,” Rey snaps, rejecting it. 

He can’t give in that easily and mean it. A loss has to _cost_ you something, and he gives the ground up like it’s nothing. Like he really is sorry. Her whole body is alive and awake, still warm and overheated where the burns from the Force lightning have etched themselves into her skin.

They must be extensive. But even so, she relishes it. This feeling of being so brutally, excruciatingly alive. It feels like power. He’s sorry, is he? She will _make_ him sorry. She leans down, bringing her face close to him so that she’s staring into his eyes, chest heaving.

“What were you thinking?” she says. Both her hands are resting on either side of his head, caging him in as he looks up at her with a gleam in his eyes that tells her he doesn't mind, isn’t afraid, that he welcomes this.

“I couldn’t let you kill him,” he says, his voice hoarse. “Not yet.”

For a minute, she’s surprised out of her power of speech. He thought she was going to kill the Emperor? He thought she was capable of something like that? That’s not what it felt like to her. That moment felt like _insanity,_ a death wish or a fever dream. Not something that had a hope in hell of actually working.

“What?”

He lifts his head slightly, but she presses him back down with a swift push on his shoulder. He growls, displeased but tolerating the correction. 

“You were so fierce,” he says, his eyes gleaming. “You should have seen you. I thought you were going to light him on fire, my little-”

“You’re mocking me,” she whispers. 

“You know I wasn’t,” he says, only a little raggedly. 

_He never mocks you,_ whispers a traitorous little voice in her head that cries out to her to have mercy on him, to forgive him immediately, to fall into his arms and just forget it ever happened. 

Can he sense her weakness?

“If you’d tried to strike him down, he would have had no choice but to kill you. He's losing control, he can't afford to look weak,” Kylo rasps, and she can see the effort it’s costing him to lay still underneath her. She can see how badly he wants to take control of the situation. Maybe he understands that she needs to have the power right now. Or maybe he just likes the feeling of her straddling him. He shifts and Rey feels that he’s _hard_ underneath her, his breathing shallow, his cheeks flushed. He’s getting _off_ on this, which shouldn’t turn her on as much as it does. 

His voice is hoarse. “You had him backed into a corner, and I need him alive.”

She dips her head down, their faces _inches_ apart now. She’s so angry at him, so hurt, but all that emotion is reaching a fever point as she looks into his eyes.

“You tell me everything. The whole truth. Or I’ll never, never let you have me,” she whispers, shifting her hips, letting herself settle over the hardness of his erection so that he grunts in pleasure. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? Didn’t you come here for _me?_ ”

He flexes his hips, grinding his cock against the center of heat between her thighs. She bites back on a whimper, because it isn’t fair for him to affect her like this. He has done frightening things, hurtful things, dangerous things, but nothing that ever seems to quell the pull she feels toward him, both physically and otherwise. 

“Gods, yes, I want you,” he hisses. 

She leans down, running her nose against the side of his jaw, feeling the friction of him as his hands shift up to her hips, as he adjusts her to get her exactly where he wants her. The point of contact feels delicious, pressing right where she needs friction, and her body responds, thrilling in the feeling of power and want. 

“Everything, I’ll tell you everything,” he grunts. 

It’s not enough. It’s not good enough. 

"Are you on his side or mine?”

Even that sends a thrill of fear through her body, just admitting that she is against her grandfather, that he can’t have both of them. 

"I’m on your side, Rey. But I couldn't let you murder him yet. Not yet, sweet, not yet.”

"Why?" It feels like all the air in the room is closing in on them, pressing them closer together as his hands hold and her body goes slick and hot. 

"Because I need the fleet in my control before you kill him," he grunts, his body jerking in a wordless spasm that sends a shot of pleasure straight through her. But then she really _hears_ what he said through the haze of her desire, and she stills. "I should have told you sooner. I was afraid he would see it in your mind."

He wants to take control of the fleet. Before she kills the Emperor. The treason is so audacious that she almost doesn’t believe he just _said it._

"You- what?"

"The fleet,” he grunts, sitting up with her still on top of him, bringing her so she’s in his lap with her legs behind him. Their face to face now, sitting on the same level even as Rey whimpers as the closeness drags against her clit and makes her toes clench. He looks affected, but focused. 

_Always so focused on her, this man._

“I need him to show me how to control it. Once he does that, you’ll kill the Emperor, and we can take control of the Final Order. Use the ships, blow up the planet, I don't know. I didn't—" he hisses as she shifts on him, trying to get comfortable. "I didn't think that far ahead. None of this was the plan." 

He's breathing hard, and she can see that he's trying to keep control of himself. The bond between them flares and snaps, pricking at her mind as if trying to get her attention. 

"When were you going to tell me that?" She whispers. The enormity of what he’s suggesting is enough to drop her voice to a low whisper, afraid even here, swathed in her own bed, cradled in his arms. 

He looks like he’s in pain, but when she tries to climb off he grabs at her, growling. “Stay put for once in your life. I know you think I have some master plan here, but I don’t, Rey. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to get either of us killed. I’m only telling you now because when-”

And here he cuts off, looking away, his fingers tightening on her hips.

“Because?” she whispers.

He sighs. “Because when you looked back at me as I put you to sleep… you looked like I broke your damn heart.”

Now it’s her turn to look away. “You didn’t break my heart.”

“Well, you broke mine. It was- I was trying to protect you. I failed, Rey. I’m sorry. I know how much you hate being… knocked out like that.”

“But you did it anyway.”

He looks at her, _really_ looks at her, no tricks, no clever words. “I thought it would protect you. I’m sorry, Rey. I am.”

Through the haze of lust and anger, she can see the sense in it. At the time, she hadn’t been in control of herself. She just didn’t want _him_ in control of herself.

“I didn’t ask you to protect me by taking away my _choices,_ ” she snaps. 

He holds her gaze. “I know. I didn’t have the right.” 

As if to soothe the sting, he runs his hands up and down her arms, sparking frissons of pleasure everywhere he goes. It feels like stars on her skin when he touches her. 

She’s still angry at him, but he seems so sincere, so gentle, and the feeling of his body against hers is so hot and warm and good. That link between them, normally so quiet and inconspicuous, seems to thrum with energy, lulling her, like it wants her to give into him. 

“Is there anything else?” Rey whispers. “Anything else you were hiding from me?”

There’s a long silence, and then he sighs. 

“I can’t let the Emperor live. I know he’s your family, Rey, but if you don’t kill him, I will.”

His words are heavy, and she can hear how conflicted he is. No coherent emotion presents itself in response to the thought of her grandfather lying dead at Kylo Ren’s feet. Not grief, not anger, but not exactly relief, either. The idea of his death only makes her think of pain, hers and his, now. 

“I knew you would kill him, one day. You want the fleet,” she says hollowly. 

He brings a hand up, lifting her chin, forcing her to look up at him. “I want the fleet. I want the crown. I want the throne. I want _everything._ But that’s not why he has to die.”

She blinks, held fast by his expression. “It isn’t?”

“No one who hurts you can be permitted to live.”

Looking into his eyes is like falling into a black void, the bond between them pulsing, growing in strength, the barriers between their minds weakening as something loud and intent strains from his side of it. The feel of him in the Force is so heady that she leans into it, opening herself, daring him to reveal his thoughts to her. The memory of his nightmare in the labyrinth is still a scalding bruise in her mind, but she doesn’t care.

Carefully, she reaches out with her mind, dipping a hand into that stream of connection. It’s like opening a tap a little, reaching into him to gently taste the edges of his mental state. His nostrils flare at the contact, his breathing coming hard as she feels him. 

And then he _pushes._ An onslaught of memories pour into her, not a stream but a river, a torrent that drowns without quenching. 

Kylo, half-mad with hope, commandeering a ship and bolting in the direction of the faint presence he’d felt, choking on the feeling of hope that there was someone else, someone who _understood_ , someone who could help him. Crash landing. A furious, burning hatred as a new chain began to bind him, a dazzling hope at the sight of her, at the look in her eyes. 

_Want want mine mine_ —

The memories tumble into her now, so fast and blinking she almost misses them as his want roars through her. 

Rey with his knife at his throat, her hand on his chest, her dress hiked up around her hip, his name on her lips, his ring on her finger, his cloak around her neck, her naked body rolling around in his bed, his cock in her mouth and yes and more and thank you princess and _mine yours mine yours_ —

“I would give you everything,” he says, his voice tight like he’s in physical pain. A new memory flashes.

 _Rey on the ground, Rey in pain, Rey crying out in the depths of her mind, and someone will pay for it someone will_ die _for hurting her like this, there is no going back now, not after this, not after the look in her eyes, no one else no one else never—_

It’s a hedonistic unraveling, a morass of desire and want so thick that it overwhelms her. In her own body, the sight of her the way he sees her, powerful and desirable and strong, someone he respects and wants so badly that he’d be willing to throw everything else away- 

It’s too much. 

An answering hunger rises in her own body, like it can feel the depths of his wounds and knows that he can handle seeing hers. Everything wounded and damaged in him delights in the violence brewing in her. Everything furious in her rushes towards the solid, immovable darkness in him. 

“I want _it to burn,_ ” she hisses. “I want _—_ ”

The words fail. She shows him.

He’s standing behind her, she’s got a sword in her hand, the crown in front of her is cut in half, the Emperor is dead, the Palace is in ruins, there’s a ship waiting for them. Freedom, sweet like fresh air, a life she could _pick,_ maybe a family, maybe love, a home, power in the ways that matter _most_ —

 _Nothing_ like an Empire, but safety, belonging, people who love her for her. Peace. Has it really been as simple as that, all this time? Was it really never about the galaxy? 

Beneath her, he’s holding her, his breathing coming shallowly, little grunts of pleasure and pain muffled into where she’s resting his head on her sternum, his massive hands cradling her back. 

The dream careens, slipping away from her control, and suddenly she’s showing him far more than she meant to.

He’s on his knees in front of her, he’s telling her that he loves her, he’s never going to leave her, never going to let anyone hurt her—

“Yes,” he hisses. “Yes, sweetheart.”

The feel of him in her mind is so immense, so desperate that it frightens her. 

_I’ll provide for you, I’ll give you that, I will give you whatever you want, princess_ —

When she kisses him, she is not gentle. 

She leaves the bond open, kissing him, letting him feel how _angry_ she’d been at him, how scared she is to lose him, how terrible this thing is between them, how unforgivable it is that he came here at all when it would have been far kinder to just leave her alone. He lays back, letting her wash over him, letting her be as angry as she wants, groaning at her for _more, more, yes, sweetheart more all of it all of it_ — 

Shaking now, she kisses his neck, making him arch his back, his hands gripping her thighs too tight as she holds him down.

She grinds down on him, and gods he's so hard, so achingly hard just from the thought of what she would do to him, what she's capable of. She sees herself in his mind in the War Room, the way he'd felt so proud, so possessive as she stood there and dared anyone to challenge her. The way he'd wanted to bend her over the table right there. 

She whines, the heady feeling of his desire almost irresistible. Her power turns him on, and her body responds, slick and wet for him like it recognizes that this is a point of inevitable convergence. His voice is a low growl as he senses her weakness, his voice dragging against her mouth as he kisses her.

"You'll be the one to kill him, I promise you, sweetheart, I'll bring him to your feet, I'll let you do it, I'll give you everything—"

Her brain is foggy, she's losing ground, falling into the tide of want and need and _give me this let me have this let me have you, please Rey please_ — 

She reaches her hand between their two aching bodies and slips it under his pants, sliding her body down as her fingers push past the fabric. He bucks against her grip as she takes him in her hand for the first time skin to skin.

She moves her hand up and down, looking at the glistening head, the pre-cum, the red intensity of it all. She’s never been this close to a cock before, and when that thought makes its way over to his brain she feels a surge of possessive, jealous pleasure surge up in him so fast that she leans her head down and takes him in her mouth just to stop him from saying something smug. 

He jerks, and she can feel how _badly_ he wants to take control of the moment, to reach down and pull her up to him, to lower her onto the aching hardness. But she shoves back at him in her mind, — _lay still, you promised_ — lowering her head, needing the time, the feeling that this is something she’s in control over. 

It’s salty and hot and hard in a way she wasn’t expecting, and as her mouth closes over him he spasms in a way that is _very_ satisfying. 

“Rey,” he says. “I’m—” 

She lowers further, sucking her cheeks in experimentally, feeling the echoes of his pleasure in _her_ head. She’s never thought of herself as something erotic, but the way he feels about her leaves absolutely no doubt how he’s responding. 

She starts to bop her head, acting on instinct, and he jerks so hard she nearly falls off him before he steadies her with a faintly frantic, “Don’t stop.”

So she doesn’t, bobbing and licking and trying things and feeling him loving her back to herself. 

When she needs a break, she lifts her head up to see the way he’s splayed back, lewd and still in his shirt with his hair messed up, his eyes half lidded as he looks down at her with such a look of raw, elemental need on his face.

“Kylo,” she whispers, the ghost of another name on her tongue, the sense that this name isn’t quite right, “Can we?”

He sits up and draws her to his chest in a crushing kiss, heady and nearly shaking just at the thought of their two bodies joining, how badly he wants her, wants to please her.

Hardly daring to breathe, she crawls up his body, pushing her skirts aside, tugging off her underthings with a hasty jerk. He watches like a hunter, and as she settles herself above him, naked with the blunt tip of his cock pressed against the wet heat of her, they lock eyes and hold very still.

“Okay?” she whispers. 

He’s propped up on his elbows staring at her with an awe in his eyes that has nothing to do with her birth or her crown. The resounding _yes, sweetheart, yes_ radiating from him into her as he draws her into his arms and slowly helps her lower herself onto him is intoxicating like honey wine. They go slow, both of them jerking as the feeling of fullness spreads inside her, making both of them gasp.

It stings, but he kisses her gently, cupping her cheek and bringing his other hand between their bodies and pressing a thumb against her clit and moving it in eager, quick circles that make her toes twitch.

They come together with a mutual _oh_ of shared shock and pleasure as Rey bottoms out on him, full, complete. A total union. 

For a heartbeat they rest their heads together, breathing hard. The bond between their two minds flares up, roaring in pleasure, stronger than she’s ever felt it. 

Then Kylo starts to move, withdrawing slightly and pushing back up, generating a heat inside her that feels like something livid and vivid, hot like anger but with none of the bitterness, light as joy without any of the fear. 

She whimpers, he gasps against her skin as their bodies rock together, lifting and turning as they learn the way they fit together, finding the spots that feel good and never resting, always moving, building towards something high and deep and _close._

“Rey,” he moans. 

White light fills the space in her heart.

“Please,” she gasps, twisting a little, arching her back. “Close.”

He grips her so hard that she’ll have bruises, and she could cry just from the joy of that claiming, that marking. She bites him because he’s got her hands pinned under his arms, and he hisses, jutting up hard into her. 

“Oh,” she croons, breathy and tense and full of need. “Yes. Like that, don’t stop.” 

“Gods, Rey, nobody else,” he whispers, pushing into her as she whimpers and cries, lost to pleasure, dazed at this new feeling that has entered the world. 

“Ben,” she gasps, lost to it, _gone_ in the haze, falling into him. 

Her orgasm spills from her mind and into his, sending them over the edge, shuddering and adrift as for just this moment, they are one being made of light, untouchable and powerful and angry and something else, now. 

Someone else. 

The intensity fades like darkness in the penumbra of a single candle, gentle and gradual. They stay there, holding each other, joined. There are tears on her cheeks, and she’s not sure if they’re from him or from her. He looks down at her, lips parted, brow damp, eyes stunned.

Then for what feels like the first time, Rey leans her head on his body and closes her eyes, the link between them soft and gentle. Sated. 

_Never leave me,_ she thinks, or maybe says, or maybe sighs. 

_I would not survive it,_ he responds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SEX CONTENT:  
> Very gentle oral, no discomfort for either party  
> Rey is on TOP, MOTHER FUCKERS  
> Alpha rey energy tbh  
> Implied first times with slight sting but no blood or significant pain (there's a sting but that's it)  
> A nice happy orgasm  
> Rey bites him (shocking, I know)
> 
> hey fam what's poppin how u doin i'm doing W E I R D. I wrote a daddy kink fic to cope. You can read [ Sugar](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23578606/chapters/56571247) if you want to know to what extent I am a ~heaux~. 
> 
> MORE IMPORTANTLY:
> 
> Mal made this incredible illustration of [ this BEAUTIFUL illustration of Rey in a sexy ass dress](https://twitter.com/CappnMallory/status/1249878988413177861) that is so amazing! Thank you so much, dear!!!
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd really appreciate a comment or a kudos! 
> 
> Check out [my Twitter account](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) for star wars content, memes, and fic updates.


	17. 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the typos! its been a busy week

* * *

**CHAPTER 17**

* * *

“Again,” he says, frowning at her as she drips sweat on the training mats, scowling at him with everything she’s worth.

“We already went again,” Rey grumbles.

The cave they’re practicing in what used to be a mineshaft, she thinks. A remnant from when the unoccluded kyber crystals were dragged out of the earth to be refined and processed into weapons and light sources. That was centuries ago, and what's left is a large, cavernous space only accessible through a series of twining, dangerous tunnels.

It’s enormous, lit at the edges by the Force sensitive kyber crystals that made this place so valuable. The minerals that remain are of poor quality and too large to be easily harnessed, so they remain; towering, two story crystals that interlace over the rough hewn floor in a glowing canopy.

The excavation has left huge divots in the floors that pool with water, and in the ensuing centuries the crystals have begun to slowly return on the bottom of the pools, spangling the mineral rich surface under the water with tiny crystal points. 

It’s beautiful. Romantic, even.

Kylo Ren does not seem overly interested.

They’ve dragged training mats and sticks down to the big open space, and Kylo is working her out with what seems an unnecessary glee. 

She’s exhausted, they’ve been at this for hours now, drilling through forms and movements that blur together. But at least she’s pretty sure that down this far, nobody can really find them. It’s odd that doesn’t frighten her. 

Two weeks ago, the idea of being alone with a man like Kylo Ren underneath a mile of solid granite, bruised and exhausted, would have scared her. Now she just feels annoyed as he prowls around her.

“Again,” he repeats.

She flops back on the mat. “No.”

“No?”

“No, because I think you are trying to kill me,” she pants. 

“The exact opposite.”

Rey drapes an arm over her eyes, tired. “I’m a princess. You’re not allowed to poke me with a staff until I’m exhausted. You’re supposed to bring me cool drinks and grovel at my feet, and, I don’t know—”

“Escort you to dinner parties?”

Rey blinks up at the ceiling. Tonight is the night of Anders’ Name Day celebration, and she’s been hemming and hawing about it all day. Lennix sent word that her gown was ready to be picked up, and Marth had been pulled back into service with much stern lecturing and firm warnings about behavior and decorum. And just like every morning, Kylo Ren met her at the bottom of the Great Hall steps and walked behind her like a large, masculine shadow.

The strangest thing, though, is that she can _feel him now._ It’s like that first, thrilling moment she’d felt their connection, but every minute of the day. It’s… lovely. She wakes up in her own bed, but not alone because he’s there too, thrumming and nearby, and he’s thinking of her, remembering her, seeing her in his mind's eye. It's difficult to focus on anything else, having this dim, cloudy person in the back of her brain. 

It doesn't help that she can't stop remembering their first time together, the way he’d shuddered and gasped her name, the way it had felt—

It makes her cheeks go pink, and she stutters something out just to get her mind off the topic before he gets the chance to feel _too_ pleased with himself. “I thought you wouldn’t want to go.”

He sits down heavily on the mat next to her, his voice gruff as he leans over to rest his head in her lap, his hair tangled as he lets it loose. It's grown, since he's been here. He needs a cut. 

“Are you going?” he murmurs, closing his eyes as Rey sits up and begins twining his hair through her fingers.

Rey sighs. She’s not keen on the idea of seeing Anders again, not so soon after everything that happened, but neither does she want to snub him by rejecting his offer of an invitation. Plus, her grandfather will be there. She can’t afford to fall out of favor with him. 

“Yes,” she decides. “I need to be there."

“If you’re going, I’m going,” he says, and that seems to be the end of it. She can _feel_ him through her hands, his mind and his emotions. Not anything specific, just a vague sense of him. He’s calm. Focused. In the dim gleam of the kyber crystal light, he looks younger. Handsome. The twist at her heart feels a little like pain. 

“Rey?”

“Hm?” she says drowsily. 

"I need my lightsaber back," Kylo says, eyes flickering open.

The night she met him feels like so _long_ ago, but the image of him with that saber in his hand remains fresh in her mind. Without it, he’s formidable. With it? He would be terrifying.

Rey nods, "He took it that first night, didn't he?"

Kylo's fists clench, and she can hear it in the stillness. There's a snap of annoyance radiating off him, something dangerous. "I made that saber. I want it back."

"You don't need it to kill people," she points out. 

He shakes his head. "It's not about that. It's... it feels like an extension of myself. I found the crystal, I made the hilt, I harnessed the power. It belongs to me."

"I bet he gave the lightsaber to Voschek," Rey says, and his hands still in his hair as she gives voice to the thought. “Which means that Anders probably has it, now. I think… I think it’s somewhere on the fleet. Probably the flagship.” 

"Why do you say that?"

Rey stares off, trying to hunt down the source of the impression. "Just... just a feeling."

Kylo grunts, closing his eyes again and settling himself deeper into her lap, leaning into her touch. "Good enough for me." 

_He trusts her._

He trusts her with his head in her hands, his fine throat exposed to her fingers, his eyes closed in repose. He's defenseless and he trusts her. It's such a gift that her hands go slack in her lap as she looks at him. Desire like a snapping whip interrupts the stillness, and he blinks up at her, no doubt feeling the way she wants him. 

His lips part. 

She murmurs, hesitant. "Kylo. Please?"

"Here?"

She lowers her head, her hair forming a canopy around their faces as she nuzzles into his hair.

She whispers, "You said I could kiss you whenever I wanted." 

Kylo lifts his head, twisting around so they're face to face. 

"That I did, princess." 

Lifting himself up on his hands, he presses a kiss to her mouth, and she grunts in pleasure, feeling the swift dip of his tongue into her mouth. She lays back, loving the feel of his body climbing over hers as their mouths move against each other. She hitches a leg over his hip, grinning as he moans against her mouth. Their bodies respond to each other so quickly now, that it feels as natural as breathing. 

It's almost embarrassing how eager she is. She isn't usually eager for anything, but the past few days it's like if he so much as looks at her she goes flushed and hot and wet, and he's so damn smug about it. That would be intolerable if he wasn't _also_ responding to her in equally embarrassing and inconvenient ways.

Twice now, they've had to excuse themselves from social clusters because she looked at him a little too long, or he took off a glove in a certain way, or one of them had a memory of the other one backed into a shadowy corner, panting, sighing— 

"This is," he gasps, fumbling with his belt, "Becoming a problem."

"I agree," she whispers, fumbling to get her training leggings off, ripping the hem in her haste.

He slides into her with a satisfying stretch, the blunt pressure making them both gasp in satisfaction. Rey whimpers in pleasure as he fills her to the hilt, shuddering above her, holding very still. 

"Gods, that never gets old," he hisses, starting to move. "You feel so good." 

She lifts herself up, getting him just where she wants him, and they settle into a rhythm. 

Above them, the kyber crystals respond to their Force energy, swelling gently in brightness, making Rey blink against the glow until Kylo moves, throwing her into shadow by pressing his forehead to hers. 

They pant, shuddering, delighting in each other, and it feels good in a way that nothing ever has. 

They climax together— a handy side effect of a Force bond– and fall into a gasping mass on the training mat. 

They're silent for a while, Rey petting Kylo's hair again, her lips tripping on endearments with the unpracticed air of a young dancer. 

_I'm so frightened of how much I need you._

"Shh," he says, eyes closed. "Saber. Crown. Fleet. One thing at a time."

One thing at a time. She can do that. 

She kisses his hair again, as if for luck.

* * *

They're walking back up from the kyber cave, their hair wet and bodies still a little damp from the rinse they'd taken in the water. It had been cold, but Kylo took her in his arms and kissed her until the water around them was so bright they had to stand apart for a while so they didn't end up going blind. 

Then they dried each other off, all soft hands and lingering glances, and Rey had to stop herself from taking him by the shoulders and asking him very seriously if he quite understood what he was doing, playing at being her lover like this? 

But he'd kissed her before she could ask, and she forgot the question.

Together, the clear the caverns and emerge in the Great Hall, which is mostly empty at this time of day. Everyone has retired to their own rooms to prepare for Anders’ celebration. But as they cross the room, the slim figure of Kotta Hano emerges from the stairs, dressed in her usual trim black tunic and Dathomirian pendant. She looks very small in the enormous, shadowy room. 

She drops a very deep bow, her eyes downcast. Kylo snorts. Rey elbows him in the chest. 

“Hello, Kotta,” Rey says. “I hope you are well.”

Kotta looks up, her eyes huge and her voice very small. “My mistress bids you to come to her chambers.”

Rey sighs, annoyed that Severn would demand a favor _today_ of all days.

“Please send her my regrets. I need to go prepare for Anders’ celebration this evening.”

Kotta squirms. “Ah, I’m afraid… it’s just…” 

Kylo’s tension is obvious, face hard, bracing for danger. “Well? Spit it out. Uh- please,” he adds as Rey reaches back and pinches his thigh viciously.

Kotta squeezes her eyes shut and the words come out in a blur. “My Mistress took your gown for the evening. It's in her chambers. I believe she intends to dress you.”

Rey huffs, annoyed. “She’s holding my gown hostage, is she?” 

“Please don’t let his majesty cut me in half,” Kotta says, gesturing at Kylo, who is scowling his usual scowl. But at Kotta's words, his expression softens and he even laughs. 

“Sorry, Hano, I’m used to _Marth,_ and she has the temperament of a Tauntaun in springtime. Not used to pages who are polite.”

Unexpectedly, Kotta smiles. It’s quick as a flash, dark eyes crinkling, dark lips pulled back to expose a set of very white teeth. And then she sobers, clearing her throat. “If your majesties will follow me, I will take you to my mistress.”

Rey sighs. “Fine. Kylo, I’ll meet you at the party.”

He crosses his arms. “I want to come.”

“Afraid to let me out of your sight for an _hour_?” 

She’s teasing, but his eyes are hard, and all he does is cross his arms in a way that feels very final. Annoyed, Rey just rubs her temple and turns back to Kotta. 

“Very well.”

Kotta gives Kylo a sidelong glance, but doesn't comment further.

"How are you feeling today, Kotta?" Rey says as they make for the main stairs that sweep up to the residential level where Severn's rooms are. 

"Very well, Princess. Thank you," she says. And then, more quietly, "Your page has been most kind to assist me in my recovery."

"I expect Marth has a somewhat limited respect for the virtues of bed rest," Rey sighs. "Apologies."

"We went to the Archives today," Kotta volunteers. 

"Did the Archivist give you a hell of a time? He loves to lecture."

"No, but he did bid me remind you that he has those records you wanted. He seemed.. cross about them."

Rey pinches the bridge of her nose. "Ah, those. I seem to have forgotten."

"It's easy to do, Princess."

Kotta has polite, easy manners. Rey sees why Marth likes her so much. 

"Well, I should take you both to the kyber caves. I was there today before you intercepted me," Rey murmurs. 

"Kyber caves?" Kotta says, her tone bright with curiosity. "Like those old fashioned lightsabers?" 

"Well, the ones left aren't pure enough to be used to power anything significant. They're decorative at this point. But still, it's a beautiful trip."

Kotta turns her earnest face up to Rey's and says, quite seriously, "If anyone could make them useful, it would be you, Princess. You can fix anything."

The absolute conviction in Kotta's voice makes Rey turn her face away, faintly ashamed of herself for reasons she doesn't understand.

* * *

Severn’s chambers are a marvel of sleek obsidian floors and stark white strip lighting. Her receiving room is aggressively bright, the white chairs set in a loose semi circle around a table of sparkling, complicated canapés that Kotta carefully sections off into little portions.

“Utterly _horrible,_ ” Severn snipes. “Your _hair_ isn’t even done. You look half-drowned.”

"I'm _clean,_ " Rey snaps, seated on a stool in the middle of a three panel mirror that seems to have been brought in specially for this case. A human servant and her assistant are setting to work on Rey’s hair, twining and twirling and combing backwards in a way that seems very counterintuitive to Rey. Marth sulks in the corner, outvoted by the professional hair team.

Marth is dressed in a dark blue tunic with gold epaulettes, her hair braided neatly down her back.

“Try to eat something,” Marth murmurs, approaching with a little plate with a fruit jelly on it and holding out a bite on a tiny silver fork that she brings delicately to Rey’s mouth. There is no question of the Princess of the Sith moving even an inch. The fruity, tart jelly is unexpectedly nice. Almost… festive.

Severn continues to tut, supervising the hair team as Rey chews her fruit jelly. She's dressed in a military style gown, black and structured but sleeveless except for a shock of red shimmersilk draped like a military banner across one shoulder to trail behind her. Her tattoos, black and elegant as always, are enhanced by the striking gown, and the mark of the setting sun on her temple has been outlined in gold. 

“It’s not like everyone there doesn’t know what I look like.”

“It isn’t about looks, it’s about _image._ ” Severn snaps her fingers in annoyance. “You need to look regal, like the heir to the Final Order. Bad enough that you’ve been cavorting around with some half-feral man with twitchy fingers. Your image is in tatters.”

“I can _hear_ you, you know,” Kylo grumbles, leaning on an opposite wall with a displeased frown on his face.

“Talk to me when you’ve learned how to wear a cloak like an actual prince,” she says coolly, and the servant doing Rey's hair gasps softly. 

“I’m not a prince,” he corrects. 

"Don't be tiresome, of course you're a prince. Being a royal is just something that happens to you, and you poor dears just have to deal with it."

Marth sets her plate down, eyeing Severn curiously. “What do you think of the dress?”

Severn sniffs. “It’s tolerable.”

Rey glows. Marth claps her hands. Even Kotta smiles. 

Kylo looks nonplussed, and then annoyed as the servant accidentally stabs Rey with a hairpin. 

“I thought this was just a simple Name Day celebration.”

“It was, until Anders Vellian received an unexpected promotion. Now, it’s the most important social event of the year. Voschek never entertained, and if you want to get in the new Grand Admiral's good graces, it’s a powerful opportunity.”

Kylo nods, expression thoughtful. 

“And it’s also the first time most of us will actually go onto one of the Fleet ships,” Marth supplies, but ducks her head apologetically when Severn gives her a haughty stare. 

“I think it’s tasteless. A party on a war machine,” Severn mumbles. “The flagship of all places. Ghastly.”

But her eyes gleam with unsuppressed curiosity. Not for the first time, Rey wonders what Severn would look like with a blaster on her hip. Probably… pretty good. 

The servant behind Rey drops her hands with a pleased noise. “Done, your majesty.” 

Rey frowns at the elaborate, twisted series of braids that have piled her long, dark hair into a braided bun at the back of her head. It's elegant, but fussy. Not her taste at all. 

“It’s heavy,” Rey says. 

“Where’s the crown?” Severn says, ignoring Rey’s protests. “Your head looks strange without it. Misshapen." 

“The Alchemist still has it,” Marth supplies. “I checked.” 

Rey chews the inside of her cheek, wondering what _that’s_ about, exactly. She’s never gone this long without it.

“I hate that man,” Kotta says, her eyes narrowed

Severn doesn’t appear to have heard her quiet page, turning to glare at Marth instead. “Provoking monkey, are you _certain_ you checked?” 

Marth makes what seems like a very careful effort not to give Severn any lip when she says, “Quite certain, my lady. Kotta and I went together to check.”

Severn sighs. “Well, if Kotta was there, I suppose you must be telling the truth. Very well. What a shame.”

Kylo’s voice is low but loud. “I like her better without the crown.” 

Every head in the room turns to look at him, dressed in his simple training garb and his resolute stare. He doesn’t flinch, just lets the sentence hang in the room. The tension becomes brittle at the light dusting of treason that Kylo seems to sprinkle on everything. 

Severn is the one to break the silence. “Yes, _thank_ you for that, Kylo. Would you please go with my page to be fitted in something suitable?”

She puts just the right amount of acid into the words to bring the tension down, and a collective sigh of relief washes the room as he rolls his eyes and follows Kotta into a spare room. A servant follows, carrying a stack of boxes with Lennix’s crabbed signature inked on the outside, and then it’s just Severn, Marth, and two servants in the room. Immediately, Severn sets a servant to disembowling the black, tissue lined box that contain's Rey's gown. 

When Severn goes to supervise, Rey takes the opportunity to pull down some of her hair from the bun, yanking and pulling. Marth gasps and scampers over, standing on her toes to help pull a few of the fussier braids down, smoothing until her hair is half up, half down, pulled back at the temples but resting heavily on her back. It feels like armor. She likes it better. It’s not that she minds elaborate hairstyles, it’s just that tonight, for some reason, she wants to feel more like herself. 

Severn sighs, turning around as her team pull the gown out of the box. “Fine, look like a vagrant, it’s only the most important party of the year during a time of immense political instability but see if _I_ care—”

Rey rolls her eyes but doesn’t fight Severn as the servants strip her of her training gear. Dathomirians never had much use for modesty, but even Severn's eyes widen slightly, as the red, fern like scars from the Force lightning are revealed on Rey's chest and neck. They’re still sharp and raw, but the pain has diminished and the color has faded to a pale pink shade. 

Kylo begged her to have someone see to them, but she’d refused. In a spiteful way, she likes them. They’re delicate and beautiful, scars borne of pain. And in another way, she wants people to see them. To recognize just what kind of man they’re pledging their allegiance to. Also? The medical facility on Exegol is the least comforting place Rey's ever been. 

Marth takes a soft cloth and delicately dabs at Rey’s face and neck, being extra careful with the task and snapping like a wild dog if any of the other attendants try to help.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Rey says soothingly.

Marth scrunches up her nose. “Princess Rey, I love you, but you’re a liar.”

It’s like the wind has gone out of her. Rey stares at her page, who only gives her a little smile and drops the washcloth into the silver bowl on her hip.

_I love you._

“She’s ready!” Marth says, gesturing for the attendant to bring the dress over.

The gown goes on in one silky swish of fabric over shoulders, and then Rey is standing in a dress of draped, sheer silk. Swathes of fabric they tumble from her shoulders to the floor, covering her arms but still showing the skin underneath. But the dress’s main feature is the deep, plunging neckline that scoops down from her shoulders almost to her navel, exposing a truly daring amount of skin. The skirt cinches at the waist in a gold, military style buckle in honor of Anders and his military career, but the slit up the leg is only for her. 

Severn smiles viciously, pleased at the effect. “You’re almost ready.”

Rey has the good sense to be a little afraid of Severn as she crosses with that gleam in her eyes, but she only withdraws a little paint pot and ink, coming right into Rey’s space to draw a neat line in black ink across her lid. And then, after considering it, she grabs a different paint pot from the table and carefully paints Rey’s lips a bright, vivid red. 

“Better,” Severn says, eyes narrowed. 

When she’s done, Rey turns to look at herself.

She looks striking. Dressed in black with dark makeup and blood red lips, she looks dangerous. It’s not like she hasn’t worn makeup before, but this feels different. Something about this look seems to be making a statement. Without the crown, she’s just Rey. A girl with some fresh scars, a dagger strapped to her thigh, and a hole in her heart that won't stop aching until the man in the other room comes back to stand at her side.

“He’s going to _die,_ ” Marth says approvingly, and Rey isn’t entirely sure whether she’s talking about Kylo, Anders, or her Grandfather. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> will kylo physically die when he comes back in? vote now by texting your answer to 1-800-YES-HE-WILL
> 
> [Rey's dress](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/2e/10/09/2e10095d395e54a1ef96e28df000d26c.jpg)  
> [Severn's dress (the one in the middle with the red sash)](https://i.pinimg.com/564x/84/77/2d/84772da17fa1ec77b67445e2b16b3bd6.jpg)
> 
> Niffin made this [ STUNNING MOODBOARD](https://twitter.com/curiousniffin/status/1251950255148580873) that moves?? It's got GIFs! The future is HAPPENING and I love it!!!
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd really appreciate a comment or a kudos! 
> 
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	18. 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies if this is a bit shr

* * *

**CHAPTER 18**

* * *

Rey considers the effect of herself in the mirror, feeling pleased. She looks good. Daring. Bold. The effect makes her smile, and she swishes the skirt, twirling like she’s a young thing again. Not that she was ever really the sort of girl to walk around, swishing her skirts just for the sheer joy of it. But still. It is a birthday party, after all. 

It's a little incredible the way that some fabric and makeup can make her feel. The absence of the Sith Crown doesn't hurt, either. She feels clear-headed and energized, like she could lift an entire boulder or skip down a hallway. 

Severn rolls her eyes, but makes no move to stop Rey's self-satisfied preening.

“Shall I fetch Master Kylo?” Kotta says, her eyes bright with excitement.

Marth rubs her hands together, grinning. “I think we should apply just a touch of body oil on her highness’s décolletage first.”

“What is a décolletage?” Kotta says, tilting her head slightly.

“It means her bre—” 

“Enough _,_ little monkey _,_ ” Severn sighs. “Go fetch the young lord.” 

Marth scampers off with a mock salute, and Rey turns again to the mirror, wondering if maybe some more oil might not entirely be a bad idea. 

There’s a sound of male voices, a door opening, and then she turns around. 

The experience of looking at Kylo is always faintly shocking. With his dark hair and his brows and the scowly good looks of him, he makes for a pleasant study. But now, the feeling of looking at him is like the first time they kissed.

Like lightning, sparking and hot. 

Like thunder, rolling and deep.

He’s staring, and she’s staring, and everyone in the room turns their faces away like they can feel the sheer tumult of the feelings passing between them.

He looks _criminally_ handsome, her man. 

He’s dressed in a black tunic embroidered with dark gray stripes that radiate out from the clasp at the neck, which is a dark bronze color. His cloak is lined in a blood red velvet so dark that it looks almost— but not quite— black against the blistering shine of his boots.

Marth gives him a polite little knick of a bow, and murmurs, “My prince.”

For the first time, Rey _really_ feels that she understands why Marth likes the title.

Rey’s lips part as she feels the wash of approval, longing, and pride that radiates off Kylo, thrumming and satisfying as the tendrils of feeling connect their two bodies.

“How beautiful you look,” he says, his voice a low rasp. 

But that’s not what it _feels_ like he’s saying. 

Marth pops a jorgon fruit into her mouth, smirking shamelessly as Kotta covers a smile with one hand.

Rey opens her mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out.

_You look edible. Never stop looking at me. See me. Know me._

Severn says something in a low tone to the servants, sending them scurrying from the room. 

“Majesties,” she says in a tone of voice that conveys a remarkable lack of deference. “The shuttle?” 

Kylo takes a few steps forward and it feels so natural to take his hand when he extends it, clasping her bare fingers in his gloved ones. The contact makes their bond shudder pleasantly, his thoughts crossing to her.

 _I want to devour you almost as much as I want to be devoured. My heart. You are a credit to yourself._

She stands up on her toes and kisses him, hot as a flash.

“No, no,” Severn hisses. “The makeup. My god, Kotta, please get the door, the porter is here, we need to leave immediately.” 

* * *

The shuttle ride to the _Dauntless_ is a strange experience. 

Rey and Kylo stand together, apart from the clusters of party goers seated in the pleasure craft’s low slung seating area, all dim lights and idling droids laden with sparkling drinks. The fleet is stationed far enough away that the shuttle has powerful sub-atmospheric engines, and the craggy surface of Exegol flashes underneath them as they fly oer it. It always feels a little surreal, traveling above the surface of Exegol. Her whole life has kept her underground, nearly buried. 

Behind them, the above ground palace looms like a tombstone, receding into the distance. The viewport is probably open in the Emperor's study, so that her grandfather can see the fleet as it rises into the air. 

Rey sips her drink, leaning against the railing as the massive ship comes into view in front of them. Trying to project calm, icy boredom, she keeps her back to the window. But Kylo grips the railing on either side of her, glowering over her head while boxing her in on either side. 

“How many?” he says, sizing up the fleet.

Rey tries to estimate. “I’m not sure. Many.”

“More than we’ve got,” Kylo mutters. 

He looks serious and intent, all business, but she can’t help the little thrill of emotion at the “ _we_ ” he just said. The sense of conspiracy is thick between them, and she delights in it, squirming in her fine dress.

Kylo glances down at her, lips twitching. “Quiet your mind, or I’ll take you right here.”

She feigns ignorance. “Forgive me, prince, but I doubt you.”

Dipping his head, he runs his nose against her cheek, inhaling greedily. “I’d bend you over the railing so that you could get a good long look at the pretty fleet I’m going to secure for you.”

“Hmm,” she murmurs, exposing more of her neck to him, not even caring that people are staring and that her grip on the champagne is getting dangerously loose. “That sounds nice.”

He chuckles. “That’s us. So _nice_.”

She bites her lip, but can't stop the laugh that bubbles up. Several heads turn in their direction, and it strikes her that they might not have ever heard her laugh. It bothers her to realize how much that thought bothers her. 

But then they’re gaining altitude, climbing up into the air to the huge platform that has been extended for the palace’s guests to disembark upon. When the shuttle, glittering with finery possessed only by the richest people in the galaxy, comes to a smooth stop, its doors open to expose the massive, sleek face of the Dauntless parked in sub-atmospheric conditions. 

With much chatter, the guests disembark, one by one until it’s just Rey and Kylo left standing together at the bow, peering through the transparisteel windows at the enormous ship. 

“Ready?” she murmurs, smoothing out her dress.

“No,” he says, catching her by the waist as she walks past him. Drawing her closer, she peers up at him. Maskless, broad, focused. They stare at each other for a minute, feeling the breeze coming in through the shuttle door, the swelling noise of music radiating out from the interior. 

“Kylo, we need to go,” she whispers, although she doesn’t make a move.

“I just want to look at you for a minute,” he murmurs, dipping his face to hers, kissing her gently, tenderly. Rey lifts herself onto her toes, pleasure curling in her stomach at the way it feels just to touch him. He dips his mouth to her jaw, her neck, murmuring into her, “Just for a minute. Just let me have you to myself.” 

Rey sighs, relaxed as he kisses her. "You know what I was thinking about?"

"What is it?" 

“I was thinking that when we get your saber back, I want you to wear it on your belt.”

“Hmm, do you?” 

“Yes. Clipped in the front. Where I can see it.”

He gives her a warm smile, cupping her face in his hand, and impulsively she nuzzles her face into it, feeling pretty and giddy and floaty. 

Kylo's voice is very gentle. "It's so strange. Pleasing you pleases me more than pleasing myself."

"Some dark lord you turned out to be," she scoffs. "Come on, we have a sword to find." 

* * *

When they finally make their way into the interior of the Dautless’s main gathering space, the scale of the moment changes. Rey's been to the Daunteless before; it's the prize ship, the seat of the Grand Admiral. Its completion was heralded with much ceremony, and of course she knows that there is an entire ecosystem of support crew who live out here. 

But the enormity of the space and the looming, lurching energy of the party dials back her giddy feelings into something closer to nervousness. The party is being held in a massive, three story tall space designed to hold troop formations, drills, and other activities that require the mass movement of large groups of people.

But tonight it has been retrofitted for a party befitting a Grand Admiral demonstrating his rank and position. Huge, crystalline chandeliers dangle from the ceiling, throwing shimmering pink and red light into the center of the room. Final Order banners drape the walls, covering the blistering white walls in a coat of dripping red. A raised stage draped in black at the far end of the room hosts a group of uniformed musicians playing something slow, elegant, and stirring.

It's dark and stirring and not at all the sort of thing Rey would have chosen for her own birthday celebration. But then, Anders is doing this as much to flex his fingers in his new rank as he is celebrating his name day. 

At the entrance to the massive room, Rey holds onto Kylo’s arm and pinches him hard when he eyes the decor and snorts contemptuously. 

Everyone is looking at them, of course. Rey in her daring dress, Kylo in his… well, his usual _everything._

He keeps his voice low, turning his face just slightly towards her. “What do we know about this ship?” 

She adopts a cool, indifferent look on her face, feeling the lack of her crown like a missing appendage. She clears her throat delicately, letting Kylo lead her into the huge, dark space as she murmurs, “It’s a Xyston-class star destroyer. Bigger than the old I-Class Destroyers, with axial superlasers.”

They stop to accept a glass of pale red liquor from a passing droid. Kylo declines the drink and slips his hand around her waist, muttering, “That’s not so bad. They just put some red paint on the hull and upped the class ranking.”

She takes a sip and whispers around the glass. “Still a planet killer.”

Kylo blows out a long breath. “Well. We can’t have _that._ ”

Something in his tone is off, and it takes her a minute to remember the Hosnian System. Ah. Kylo scans the room, his expression roving and focused.

In the center of the room, people are dancing the precise, regulated dances favored by the Sith elite. They require extensive training and seem designed to suggest the dancer’s copious amounts of leisure time rather than any particular artistry at movement. To avoid being dragged into the fray, Rey and Kylo skirt the edge of the room. Literally every member of the Sith court is in attendance, and she even sees some of the Acolytes, standing in chittering groups in their cloaks and drawn expressions. 

“Where’s our favorite Grand Admiral?” Kylo murmurs, flicking his gaze across the massive space. Amid the noise of the music, the chatter of guests, the smell of the liquor and the dancing lights, his arm around her waist feels like the single fixed point in the universe.

He presses an absent kiss to her temple, a possessive little tendril flicking out from him as people part to make way for them. 

“Probably at the far end of the room,” she says. “He likes music. I expect he'll want to give a speech—”

“Princess,” says a familiar, wet voice behind them. Rey goes stiff as a board, and Kylo registers her alarm, reaching for a saber that isn’t there. They turn as one to find the Alchemist standing behind them, flanked on either side by two of the mid level loyalists in full military dress. It strikes Rey that, for all that the Alchemist is a crucial part of the Final Order war machine, the emperor might not _entirely_ trust him. 

The Alchemist is dressed in formal evening clothes, immaculately pressed and trimmed, but even with all the dignity afforded by fine clothes and a retinue of important Sith loyalists, there’s still something _wrong_ about him. It’s the Sith alchemy, and even though she’s met him a hundred times, the sense of offness about him hasn’t faded. 

Kylo looks as annoyed as she’s ever seen him. 

“Good evening, Alchemist,” Rey says, receiving the other man's bow but not returning it. 

The Alchemists twists his hands, giving her a vague smile. “You must forgive me for not returning the Sith Crown to you. No doubt you feel its absence.”

Rey smiles tightly. “No doubt.”

Kylo gives her hand a squeeze, and at this the older man turns his ancient head, his eyes fixing on Kylo’s face. Every hair on the back of Rey’s neck stands up as that watery, faintly insane gleam in the Alchemist’s eyes is turned on him. 

"Don't look at him," Rey hisses, fear clawing its way up her throat at the strange, hungry look in the Alchemist's eyes as he looked at Kylo's face. Whatever this man did to Rey, she won't let him do it to Ben. “I’m afraid we need to leave.”

But the ancient man just looks at Rey, his words abstracted. “Do you know why the atmospheric conditions on this planet are so conducive to lightning strikes?”

"Stop _talking,_ " Rey snarls, taking a step forward. 

“It’s the dust particles in the air. The dry conditions and the friction of ambient particulate generate enormous potential energy, which is discharged in bolts of lighting. Charming, isn’t it?” 

Rey grits her teeth, taking Kylo's arm again, muttering as she tries to turn them around. “Well, Exegol is a desert, technically speaking, so I’m not surprised. Excuse us.”

Kylo doesn't budge, and his voice is like ice. “You’re the one who made the Sith Crown, aren’t you?”

Rey's eyes flit to Kylo's face. He’s like marble. 

_No one who hurts you can be permitted to live._

“Kylo,” Rey murmurs, putting a hand on his chest. 

The Alchemist, being _insane_ , gleefully takes up the topic. “Indeed, yes. My best work, until quite recently. Do you know, it was forged from the melted—”

“The melted remains of two priceless, deeply cursed Sith artifacts, yes,” Rey hisses, tugging at Kylo. “Thank you.”

The Alchemist is serene. “Plenty of metal. Plenty of energy. Takes a great deal of energy to combine them. That’s why it’s such a wonderful conductor. Not unlike the atmosphere we’re standing in.”

“Dangerous forces to meddle with,” Kylo says, his voice low. He takes one step forward. “Are you quite sure you can control the outcome?” 

A new voice cuts in, clear and crisp. “Ah, there she is.”

They turn as one as Anders Vellian, the Grand Admiral himself, strides towards them. As ever, he cuts a fine figure in his polished boots, white uniform, and blue eyes. Behind her, she hears the Alchemist’s distracted, fading voice. “Power is all around us, don’t you find? One feels one could pluck it from the very air tonight.”

Anders watches the Alchemist go with an annoyed expression on his face.

He starts to say, “I apologize—” 

Rey finishes his thought for him. “For the attempted murder of my companion, Kylo Ren, Knight of Ren, Prince of Alderaan?”

The words are so snappish and abrupt that even _she’s_ caught off-guard. Logically, she can hear Severn’s words of warning in her ears. She can’t afford to alienate Anders. She remembers urging to Kylo to make nice. She can even acknowledge that some of this edge is coming from a strange, visceral revulsion at standing near the Alchemist and his diseased, Sith-struck brain. 

But she doesn’t take it back. 

Anders clenches his jaw. Kylo crosses his arms, a smirk crossing his features and a bloom of warmth radiating out from his side of the bond. Mentally, she shushes him. _That was bad._

He smirks back at her through the bond, which should be a criminal offense, sending her a wordless, _Felt good though._

Anders glances between them, his expression wary. “Princess, I was hoping I might have the honor of speaking to you alone.”

Remembering their last encounter talking alone at a party, Rey sours instantly on the idea. Kylo’s mood abruptly comes back down, and she can _feel_ how badly he wants to escalate this confrontation to a full on brawl. It’s unexpectedly… rogueish of him. A bar fight rather than his usual neat dismemberment. 

Anders takes a step forward and Kylo _actually growls._

But Anders looks her in the eyes, drops his voice very low, and says, “Please. One conversation. As a birthday gift.”

“You— you _lousy_ —” 

He has her. He knows he has her. How is she supposed to deny him when he phrases it like that? Kylo’s eyes are fixed on her face. 

“Very well,” she sighs, and Kylo's expression turns to a glower. She gives him a sharp look. 

_This could be useful._

He shoots right back. _A blaster is useful. This is a bad idea. _

She steps out of Kylo’s grasp, and she feels acutely how much he doesn’t want to let her go. By then, though, she’s crossing the distance to Anders, falling into step beside him as they walk together. Not caring that it's rude, she refuses to take his arm when he offers it. If Anders wanted her to lean on him, then he shouldn't have tried to have Kylo executed for war crimes.

Anders doesn’t react to the rudeness, just drops his arm and matches the pace of her steps. 

“I’m glad you could attend,” Anders says quietly. 

As they walk together through the massive room, she can feel the attention of everyone on them. The people immediately nearby turn and look, whispering, the staticky force of their attention like an itch against the edges of her mind. Gods, how has she never appreciated how distracting that constant buzz is? 

It's like the way you get used to the roar of an engine or the buzz of an air filtration system; she’d spent her whole life without a minute of genuine silence. Not till Kylo, who is a lead weight at the edge of her consciousness, a silent blanket she would very much like to wrap herself up in.

“I gave you my word I’d attend,” she mumbles. “I am not in the habit of breaking my vows.”

“Nor am I,” Anders says. 

“I seem to recall you swearing fealty to the Throne of the Sith. Did that vow include advocating for the execution of its honored guests?” 

“Rey, please. I— I thought,” he says, cutting off. It’s an uncharacteristically unpolished sentence, for him, and she lets it hang there between them, curious how on earth he thinks he can salvage this. “I thought it would ensure our survival.” 

“ _Our_ survival?” 

Anders clears his throat. “The Throne of the Sith. And whoever sits upon it.”

“The Emperor, you mean?” she says haughtily. This amount of contempt she just put into that phrase is dangerous, but she feels so brittle, tense and jagged. It’s the feeling of itching for a fight, she realizes. A smuggler's instincts. Kylo's mind is getting to her, surely. 

“I meant that I made my vows to the Sith. The Crown. The Throne,” says Anders, slowing down and putting a hand on her shoulder to stop her. They look at each other. “And to _whoever_ sits upon the throne.” 

Rey blinks, the implied treason in his voice as frightening as the blazing look in his eyes. 

“What?” she whispers.

“I want _you_ on that Throne, when the cards are counted. If it came down to which of you I think has the best chance at ruling? It was always going to be you. You are the heir to the Empire, Rey. It's your birthright.”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “That’s a courtesy title.”

“Do you think that matters to them?” Anders says, gesturing at the seething crowd behind them. “Who is the Emperor to them? It’s _you_ they know, you they’ve spoken with, you they’ve been dominated by. You have their respect.”

“You can’t seriously—” 

He leans down. “If you turned around and bid them all to dance a jig on the surface of the planet right now, they would do it.” 

Rey’s jaw clenches. A week ago, she would have accused Anders of mocking her. She doesn’t, now. 

“You want my forgiveness. You flatter me very prettily,” she snaps, resuming her walk. "I'm not such a fool as I once was. And for the record, I have no intentions of any kind of insurrection, and you should count yourself lucky that I won't take that morsel of treason straight to my grandfather."

“Of course, I wouldn’t approach you with a reconciliation based on such hollow promises and tender footed words,” he says, sounding almost offended. “I’ve a trade to make.”

“Every bit the military man,” she mutters.

Around them, the crush of the crowds is growing. Students at the academies, the glittering Courtiers, and the extended ranks of the Final Order’s commanding officers, normally stationed on their flagships, are all here. 

“You need a weapon,” he says, his voice low.

_I am a knife._

“What need have I for a weapon? As you’ve said, my value is political.”

“Voschek stored the boy’s lightsaber in his chambers. Top floor of elevator seven, in the bottom drawer of his bureau. I’ve set the lock to open to your thumbprint.” 

He says it so casually that for a moment she doesn’t register what he’s saying. They’re still walking, still breezing past the crowds towards the musicians, her long dress trailing behind her.

“ _Why_ would you tell me that, exactly?” Rey says brightly, her shock radiating off her like a beacon. “The last time you invited me into an office, you locked me in it.”

“Because I was wrong. When I saw you in the War Room, when you cracked the table down the middle, you looked … forgive me, but terrifying. Every single General in that room will remember that image. It was like I could feel you in the air.”

“Anders—”

“Which is why when I watched your young man put you to sleep like a disobedient animal, I suddenly understood just why what I did to you by locking you in my office was wrong.”

Her shock goes up a notch, her voice dropping to a warning level. 

"That's what did it? Seeing someone _else_ do it to me? Does empathy have to be dragged out of you with pliers, Anders, or are you just that stubborn?"

The bitterness in her voice is strong enough that she can almost taste it, and she can feel Kylo not far off, alert to her distress, heading her way. Anders brings his face level with hers, staring into her eyes, as serious as she's ever seen him.

"The tide has changed. I could feel it. So when this inevitably goes horribly wrong, I'd like for you to remember me, not as the man who locked you in an office, but the man who handed you a sword." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here! Some "fluff" in these trying times!!!!
> 
> [Xyston-class Star Destroyer](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Xyston-class_Star_Destroyer)  
> 
> 
> CHECK THIS STUFF OUT THO!!!!!!!  
> I commissioned Kala to make [this awesome portrait of Dark Crown Rey and Kylo](https://twitter.com/kalaelizabeth/status/1260755113221582848) having a nice time uwu. Kala knocked it out of the park and was super easy to work with, if you're looking for art :) 
> 
> Outletfangirl made this [ amazing photo manip](https://twitter.com/OutletFangirl/status/1260003460788953088) of our favorite dark princess! I love it so much! 
> 
> Paula also made [this incredible portrait of Dark Crown Rey](https://twitter.com/reylocanoncrumb/status/1253676225324658688) in that incredible dress everyone was tagging me in for this fic! 
> 
> THANK YOU SO MUCH? I AM SO BLESSED
> 
> **As we get to the endgame plot and I adjust to life in a global pandemic these updates might be slightly more infrequent.**
> 
> If you'd like to support my writing, I'd really appreciate a comment or a kudos! Check out [my Twitter account](https://twitter.com/ViWiWrites) for star wars content, memes, and fic updates.


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